


Porphyria's Lover

by Sami714



Series: Aurelius Rising [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternative Timeline, Blood, Dark, Dubious Consent, Multi, Novel, Vampire Politics, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-21
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:58:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sami714/pseuds/Sami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelus kidnaps Willow and Sunnydale will never be the same as the Scooby Gang goes up against the new Order of Aurelius. Multiple pairings, explicit violence, sexual situations, original characters, no character bashing, female friendship, vampire intrigue, and character death. COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch. 1- 15

Title: Porphyria's Lover

Author: Sami

Disclaimer: Last time I checked I was neither Joss Whedon or anyone else who owned Buffy.

Spoilers: Mid season two before 'Passion' and all the flashbacks.

Summary: Angelus kidnaps Willow and Sunnydale will never be the same as the Scooby Gang goes up against the new Order of Aurelius. WIP. Multiple pairings, explicit violence, sexual situations, original characters, and character death.

Notes: This is my first W/Aus fic so feedback would be fantastic, favorable or otherwise. The title comes from a poem by Robert Browning of the same name. I am changing the format of the fic and it is now consolidated into one big chapter with only the newest section added as a different chapter. I am re-editing old chapters so there will be little changes throughout the story. I want to thank all the people who have reviewed my story and give such great feedback like Mysticwolf1, Cesci, Voldemortfollower, Malfoy-Lover555, and Blood Red Kisses. Also, thank you, Lisa Kelley, for betaing the first few chapters.

Chapter One : Strike Hard

Angelus lay entangled with Drusilla on the large bed. Her skin glowed in contrast to the midnight blue sheets. Drusilla's head rested on his abs and her hair spread across his chest. His had his hand on her naked shoulder and the other under his neck. His eyelashes fluttered and his lips curved into a smile…

_Darla, in his arms and on his lap, looked fetching in a green, empire style night gown. She wiggled as she ran her nails down the side of his broadcloth covered thigh. The fire crackled merrily as it fought the chill of winter outside. _

"_I've missed this family time." Drusilla whispered to him as she clapped, curled up by his legs in a red nightgown similar to Darla's. "All I have left are dreams. Bright as a butterfly and just as fragile."_

_ Spike told his tall tale while throwing mock punches and gesturing wildly throughout. The whale oil lamps made the scales on his fish costume glimmer like the Caribbean. Spike was just getting into a part where he seduced a barmaid when Darla asked coyly, "Why not demonstrate this seduction?"_

Angelus awoke confused, his eyes darted around the room.

"I heard the ocean when you dreamed. Was it sweet or salty?" Drusilla said as she nibbled his collarbone and stroked his thigh, slowly caressing toward his cock.

"More like abstract." He put a hand under her chin and brought her up to stare into her green eyes. "Why, did you see?"

"Oh, yes," Drusilla smiled and lowered her eyes. "A wondrous vision of empire. My sire made a king." She leaned closer and nipped his bottom lip. "All of Gaul is divided into three parts."

"Sounds intriguing. Anything more?" Angelus pushed a lock of her hair of her shoulder.

"Come to a crossroad we have. One road leds to madness and mayhem. The other is dim, but I see our family together." Drusilla caressed the side of his ace. "A lion trapped in the cage of a hare. So much rage. I feel your confusion too. The whirlwind sweeps across the desert, but it cannot cross the seas."

"That confusion is from the dream; it was going to a strange place."

"The Slayer blinds you. You've stared into the sun." Her hands trembled on his face. "The stars quiet their whispers and speak ever so quickly."

"Dru..." Angelus said in warning. Buffy was his business. She inflicted more damage on him than even Holtz ever did. He mooned over her like a love-sick teenager and courted her like he was Prince Charming with fangs. He had killed his sire for her.

"You miss her." Drusilla hummed as she sat up and swayed. "I feel the jasmine growing in the garden"

"The Slayer?"

"No, Grandmummy. Hurting the Slayer helps you forget." Drusilla frowned. "We are walking on the path that leads to the buffalo and it shall take you all away from me. Alligators are the animals to watch. They saw the world begin. " Her lips curled into a grin and she touched his forehead before resting her hand on his chest. "Remember the head and the heart. Be bold and strike hard."

.....

Willow laid on her belly in a green jersey reading _On The Road _ and seemed to be engrossed in it by the intense look on her face. Angelus sat in a tree hidden behind the foliage. He had finished his sketch of Buffy as she worked on her homework and decided to spend some time with his favorite computer hacker.  
Willow was now biting her lip in anticipation over what was obviously a juicy part in the book. Angelus memorized the expression in her wide green eyes. His soulful self would think of the Slayer's friend as an innocent sweetheart while trying not to notice her legs. He still hadn't forgotten how delicious her struggling had been. It would be a fun bang and drain before leaving the lovely lamb hanging outside the Slayer's house.

Her bedside phone rang. Willow grabbed it, showing a great deal of pale leg, while saving a place in her book. "Hello? Oh, Hi, Buff." She grinned. "That stinks. And we all were researching so much today too."

He watched her stretch her arms, phone stuck between her face and her shoulder. Buffy babbled on the other end while Willow smiled.

"Don't worry. You've been a super duper trooper. We all understand. Giles and I are totally kicking tome-y butt in the library so don't be such a meanie to yourself." She paused and then laughed. "If it makes you feel better, I think we cross referenced the dust out of them."

"The head and the heart..." Angelus murmured to himself as he looked over to her ultra modern laptop and the books on her shelf. He spotted a grimoire that the Watcher wouldn't approve of. Willow was quite the Jane of all trades, very useful, and she was so cute and meek. It made him wonder what he could turn her into. What sort of darkness did she have deep down under the floppy hats and bright overalls? No, he thought, he'd save the drain and bang for Xander.

Drusilla had been right; He was at crossroads. Leaving pictures on Buffy's pillow, the spank and tickle fights, Angelus had to stop teasing them both. He needed to amp up the action.

....

It had been a week, three sketches of Buffy, five of Willow, and many hours of stalking before Angelus made any move. He watched Buffy patrolling with Giles. He watched her walk home from the Bronze with Xander and Cordelia. He watched Buffy and Willow study. While they poured over their ancient books, he stood in the stacks of the library and listened. They were getting comfortable; it was time to rip a hole in their gang.

Getting into Willow's room wasn't anything he hadn't done before, but his mood turned solemn as he leaned over to pinch a pressure point on her neck. He stroked her cheek. Such a bright girl. It would be a shame to turn her into a minion and waste her talents. He didn't want her dead stupid. After a short courtship, he would make her into a proper childe and she would ease his transition to the modern age. He had been out of the killing fields for too long and his reputation had suffered for it. Of course, if it didn't work out then he'd just set the vampire Willow on Buffy, make some popcorn, and enjoy the show. Willow wouldn't wake for hours, which should give him time to finish his preparations. _On The Road_ was on the nightstand and he put the paperback in his coat pocket.

Willow lay with her pink comforter draped loosely on her hip as she slept on her side. She wore a white night gown with a empire style night gown. It was much more appropriate for a kidnapping than her usual. Taking a piece of paper of her desk along with a pen, he walked over to her closet and jotted down her measurements. After all, she couldn't just go around naked, no matter how fun the idea was. This sort of intimate knowledge never failed to unnerve his victims. Contrary to what Spike may think, it was the details, not just gore, which could terrify. He looked forward to putting his tricks to work on Willow.

There seemed to be nothing else to be done, so Angelus picked up the phone and called Willy's Place. His instructions were brief and brisk; send the minion that he kept there to pick up gossip, and have him bring the car to Willow's house. Angelus smirked as he thought of the best way to destroy his girl's room.

She was the sort who would fight, so he knocked over the night stand and proceeded to make his way around the room. The book shelf was next and he round kicked it and books cascaded to the floor. Then the walls and posters were punched and ripped, leaving the Sunnydale Razorbacks flag torn in two. There was a slaughter of stuffed animals and fluff flew through the air along with fuzzy ears and google eyes. In the midst of the carnage, Willow was peacefully unconscious. With every teddy bear slashed open and book shredded, he saw the horrified faces of her friends and family. The room looked like a tornado stormed through by the time his car was pulling up outside

He furrowed his brow as he asked himself what could make this sight more grisly? It already had the innocence-merrily-being-shredded vibe to it. That's when it hit him. He knew he wasn't going to waste her blood by splashing it around, but he did have a perfectly useless minion down in the car…

Chapter Two: Risk

'When you wake up in an unfamiliar room what do you do?' Willow asked herself as she pressed up against the head board paralyzed with fear. 'Add Angel, the evil, leather wearing version, staring at you from across the room. Then what do you do?' She was clueless, which happened too often since she met Buffy, as to how she had gotten into this situation.

The last thing she remembered was talking to her mom, who was giving her a guilt trip about never wearing the clothes her Nanny Rosenberg had given her. How that came up when they were talking about the quaintest café her mom had found in Prague, she would never know. Willow put on the least juvenile item from the pile of frilly, baby outfits her Nanny had brought. It was an itchy, musty nightgown of lace that suffocated her with its length. But it had shut her mother up.

It was odd, she hadn't ever been more scared in her life and she had seen some scary things; the Hellmouth opening, Cordelia the day after Thanksgiving, and Giles angry. But all she could think about was how the lace on the dang nightie was driving her crazy and she was for the most part fine with that. There were much worse things to think about.

Angelus didn't get the nickname, Scourge of Europe because of his good looks though, on that front he could be a contender. She felt her eyes growing large and her heart speed up as all the horrible things he could do to her came to mind. She couldn't help it. From his boots, to his leather pants, and up to his handsome, smirking face, he radiated something. Evil, without a doubt, but there was also something darker and more seductive that he emanated. It made your eyes follow him in either fear or something else she didn't want to think about.

When his pupils dilated and nostrils flared slightly, as his eyes bored into hers, she had the crazy thought that he could smell her fear. And he seemed to enjoy it, too.

"Hello, Willow." He said huskily.

It was his voice that stopped any delusions she might have had about him being Angel, just a little more cranky than usual. There was a joyful note to his voice, but then again there was menace and way too much sensuality for Angel. She wasn't sure how to respond. Do you give your murderer a cheerful howdy and how ya do?

She gulped before saying, "Hey."

His fingers twitched as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear revealing the side of her neck. Angelus stood and before she could react, he was sitting in the middle of the bed. Willow squeaked before she could contain herself. It wasn't just his sudden closeness that was making her heart beat frantically, there was also a hungry look in his eyes. Whatever instinct bunnies have when danger is around she must have it too, and it was telling her to run and hide. He seemed content to look at her, so she looked everywhere but at him.

Her prison was a dark teal room with a dark hardwood floor and furniture; bed frame, bookshelf, and wardrobe, dominating it. There was another door besides the exit to her left. The lone window was large and thin, but unfortunately, had intricate curling iron work covering it. Heavy forest green drapes, which matched the upholstery and duvet, stood guard at the window. It was like she was in an aquarium.

Angelus put a finger under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. They were a ravenous brown and an upsetting predatory light shined from them. The look made the knots in her stomach become a tangle.

"Willow," he said as his hand caressed her throat softly before giving it a not so soft squeeze. "Do you have any questions?" His other hand slid up to the other side of her face and his thumb moved in slow circles on the apple of her cheek. He was now too close and didn't need to lean to whisper in her ear. "You're wondering why, aren't you?"

His lips brushing against her earlobe sent shocks like ice down her spine. The feather soft caresses now became rough and the pressure he put on her cheek was swiftly becoming painful. If the strength in just his thumb was enough to bruise her and bring tears to her eyes she didn't want to imagine what the rest of him could do.

"Pretty little Willow, it's a wonder that no other vampire has tried to eat you up. The fear is just rolling off your lovely body in waves and it's really something. It smells like…" He paused before giving her neck a lick that made her shake. "Strawberries. You taste that way, too."

Willow thought she might shudder and shiver her way into a panic attack. She knew better than to beg. If he did rape her than there would be nothing she could do. She began to pray with much more fervor that Buffy would charge on in here with stakes and puns aplenty.

"Makes sense, don't you think? If, according to Spike, Drusilla is a ripe wicked plum, then you must be my sun-ripened strawberry." The hand on her cheek moved lower toward her middle before Angelus pulled her into his lap. "My little strawberry all un-plucked and juicy."

He burrowed his head into the crook of her neck. His hands were busy caressing her hips and belly. She thought she might cry and was frightened to the point of dumb hysteria. Odd thoughts ran through her mind. This situation seemed so Anne Rice; handsome vampire, gothic surrounding, and creepiness. Her heart was racing, as if she were on a roller coaster that jumped the track. She pushed away the upsetting sensations that his touch evoked.

"You're so warm and inviting that I think I ought to keep you like this at least for a couple of years." He nibbled on her ear a bit. "Don't think about escape. I have both childer and minions who would love to get a taste of you."

Suddenly she was alone on the bed. The change left her sprawled and confused, looking up at a calm, cool, and collected Angelus sitting in the same armchair he was earlier. This was the fearsome scourge that she had read about not the passionate creature of before. His face was blank.

"As I said before, escape is impossible. You are mine and Buffy can't save you, your parents can't save you, and you can't save yourself. You are alone in the world except for me and who ever I chose. I am the only one that matters. Now, do you have any questions?" He asked in a business-like fashion.

The fear was getting to her because at his words she felt irrational anger. How dare he or anyone else claim her like she was airport luggage? She was getting her hysteria down by focusing on the anger. The fact that she was going to be his captive for awhile hit her. She needed to know more and get the rules. Information was always the key. Knowledge was power.

"What are the rules?" She asked with a tremble in her voice that made her want to smack herself. She couldn't be weak.

His brow furrowed as he asked, "Rules?"

"You know what is expected of me and what I can and can't do."

His lips twisted up into a smirk and that hunger returned to his eyes before he reigned himself in. "Obedience is the first rule, no escaping or I flay your mother. Hmmm, what else? Darling, that's it. The rules or any demands I make can and will change. I will be looking eagerly for any excuse to punish you, but really I don't need an excuse. So, if one day I walk in here and start to fancy the idea of spanking you, then consider yourself spanked." His eyes closed for a second and the hunger was back. "I was planning on raping you, but then I thought about it. What would hurt you more? The fact that you want me desperately, while hating me passionately, or raping you and giving you fuel for your righteous anger? And believe me, you will be begging for me to touch you, kiss you… I look forward to seeing you beg."

Her eyes narrowed and she didn't trust herself to speak. She didn't even trust herself to move lest she smack the frilly heck out of his stupid vampire self. She would need all of her brains to make it out of this alive. He was right, Buffy couldn't help her now. All of the emotions that would mess with her judgment had to be set aside. She needed to see this at a different level. Her life was at risk, so she had to play this right. Risk, that was it. When she was younger, her and her dad used to play Risk and it was one of those few times where she could lie and bluff. If it was that cut and dry she could strategize better.

"Franz, come in."

A short, sandy haired man, with a mole high on his pale cheek, wearing a gray suit walked in the door and gave Angelus a deep elaborate bow. He had the air of an ambassador or a butler. He had a refined manner unlike any other vampire she had had the misfortune to meet.

"This is your body guard. He won't hurt you unless you make him. Your safety is relatively ensured. He has orders to answer any question you may have. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Angelus said before he walked to the door. He stopped to whisper in Franz's ear. "Remember," he said to Willow over his shoulder. "Be a good girl while I'm gone."

Then he left her alone with only her confused thoughts and a minion for company.

Chapter Three: History Lesson

Franz turned to Willow and bowed to her. When he straightened he said, "Permit me to further introduce myself. I am Franz Pieterzoon, in the service of Angelus, sired by Darla, of the Order of Aurelius. During the length of your stay I will serve you in a bodyguard or butler capacity. I am obliged to answer any and all questions that you may have. I have been informed that you are a quiet girl and that I should get the ball rolling, so to speak." He looked uncomfortable with the modern phrase as if he was being forced into the present age.

"I imagine that you must be frightened which is natural. I will not wax on about the folly of trying to escape. I feel that a short history on the Order of Aurelius is the best approach in this sort of situation. It is best that you understand the world that you're held in." He gestured to the chair. She was the prisoner, but he was treating her well. Franz was like an artifact from a Victorian parlor, a gentleman caller or something.

Willow knew that he would report everything to Angelus. She decided that if he was the ambassador, then she must be the queen. The fear had not left her, in fact, it had doubled as snippets of info on Angelus started to come back to her, a particular passage about a puppy seared her mind. She focused on her 'Risk' strategy; her walls needed to come up. This wasn't the time to go to pieces.

"If I may begin," Franz said. His posture was perfect; the entire encyclopedia Britannia would have balanced on his head. He looked like a 1950's news anchor with his sandy hair parted to the side.

To her surprise, an odd calm swept over her body; the facial ticks, nervous gestures, and trembling stopped. This sort of thing happened when ever she had an exam. Since all he wanted her to do was listen, which as Buffy's best friend she was good at, she was fine. As long as she had some clue or idea of what she should do, she was fine.

"Aurelius was a famed Roman gladiator. His cruelty and prowess in the Coliseum caught the eye of Kiya, an Egyptian priestess of Anubis. Her undeath only increased her religious fervor. The year was the fifth of the Emperor Augustus' reign when he was brought over. Aurelius and Kiya shared a passion for the Old Ones, which is the foundation for our mighty Order. The mix of Egyptian, Roman, and Aurelius' native Gallic mysticism influenced the Order's rituals for generations.

The centuries passed by and Roman Emperor's were replaced by Catholic Popes. The year the Old Master came into the presence of Aurelius was 956. He had traveled to Rome on the behalf of Otto of Saxony. Before the Glorious Ascendancy, his name was Heinrich Nest…

_The lantern grew dimmer as he walked through the vast catacombs. Bones, whole skeletons, filled niches dug into the stone walls. Skulls grinned in the weak flickering light. Heinrich never would have sought sanctuary in such a place before, but then before he wouldn't have believed that his holiness, John XII, would have set the Papal guards after him. It shouldn't have surprised him. The pope was a hot blooded nineteen year old boy who had called the Saxony people dissolute barbarians while he was preparing to attend an orgy. Heinrich had thought his time in King Otto's court had left him jaded, but then he came to Rome and witnessed the behavior of the clergy that everyone accepted, and he felt quite naïve._

_He stumbled in a puddle when the clang of swords against chain mail echoed in the tunnel. The guards were close. Sweat ran down his face as he looked for some place to hide. John XII had recently castrated a cardinal and if he could do that to a powerful man of the church, what might he do to a lowly foreign courtier?_

_He was pulled into a crevice. A hand muffled his screams as he was dragged through mire and darkness. Howls broke the silence of the tombs. Was this a secret torture chamber of the Pope? The sudden illumination burned his eyes, and it wasn't until his captor threw him down that he began to see how deep the evil in the catacombs ran._

_He looked into the face of a beast who sat on a throne of bones. It had horns and a visage not unlike a serpent down to a forked tongue. He had met Satan, for what else could be so grotesque? Then he looked at the feminine creature beside it. The female had a body with every luscious curve that makes up a beautiful woman, but she had the face of a canine: snout and all. The hideous monsters that cavorted around him were no better, nude demons worshiping the Horned One and his consort. _

_Satan spoke, "Lord Nest, welcome to my haven. My reports speak of your virtues and strengths. Usually the…courting process is lengthier. But when I had learned that your cub of a pope was going to blind and unman you before sending you back to Saxony in a saddle bag, I knew that the time had come to bring you over. I wish to have a man like you by my side. I will not take no for an answer, but do not fret, all will become clear the next time you wake."_

"_I'll have no dealings with devils, evil one," Heinrich spit out. Then he was thrown forward and Satan took him by the neck and bit down. Heinrich Nest, son of Rufus the Red, of the noble land of Saxony knew darkness and evil._

Willow was held spellbound by Franz's words, spoken in a low chant almost. His green eyes were wide and dark when he finished his tale. In a few blinks he was out of his trance and was no longer a bard shaman but again a courtier. The change was startling. She wanted to clap.

"Wow, that was a neat-o story," she said forgetting her ice queen act.

Franz nodded with a ghost of a smile. "Would you care to learn more about vampires?"

"Considering I was sort kidnapped by an evil fiend, it would be handy dandy knowledge to have." Then she remembered her aloof royalty act, "If you want." Willow tried not to blush at how lame she sounded. Smooth move, Rosenberg.

"Most vampires met their ends weeks after being changed. They are made by other fledglings usually and never with enough blood. Few are claimed by a clan or descent from an Order. They are stupid, frenzied, and made up the bulk of what you faced beside the Slayer." Franz said with feeling creeping into his voice at the end. Willow thought on that before adding it to the useful info cabinet in her brain. "Angelus is not one of them. He is a Master with the death count and pedigree to prove it.

Willow had never heard this sort of information on vampires before; Giles' books were mostly concerned with what they did and how to kill them. When she was rescued out she would have to tell Giles all about this. Willow couldn't figure out why Franz served Angelus and she asked him that.

Franz laughed…maybe, again, the difference was slight; he could have coughed. "Eternity is quite slow and one does need to network."

His answer, which was too flippant, made her think back, for some reason, to his introduction. "You said that you were sired by Darla? What does that make you and Angelus?" She asked. His voice had changed when he talked of Darla, maybe that was important. She watched him closely. His eyes hardened…maybe, the difference was slight. That was starting to irritate her…how he was so closed up, but then after so many decades, or centuries, he was bound to pick up some acting skills.

"I was given to Darla when I was a human at the court of Queen Elizabeth I's Viceroy in the Low Countries. She was then only a few years in undeath and The Master was touring his territory in Europe. There is no real story besides that Darla made me to serve her, not as a minion, but as a companion she could trust."

Willow noted that Darla was a sensitive point for Franz and she should move on. He had become lifeless, when before he was animate in his explanations. And when a vampire looks lifeless, they really, really succeed. That had brought her back to when Angelus was kissing her and the fact that he was basically a walking corpse. Ew. Does that make Buffy a necrophiliac? Bad, bad train of thought, must move on.

"So, are vampires suspicious of their…their," she struggled for the word, "…spawn?"

Then he out and out laughed. "I believe the word you're looking for is childe with an e." She must have made a face at the incestuous nature of the word because he clarified. "Yes, it is rather sordid. But what else would you call one reborn in darkness?"

He pulled out a silver waistcoat watch from his pocket. It was the honest to goodness old fashioned grandpa kind. Willow figured from the design that it had to be older than her…or her parents for that matter. He stood and walked over to the wardrobe and opened the doors.

"As entertaining as our conversation has been, I really must be off and perform my other duties; with your permission, of course, but I wager that you would rather be freshening up than listen to me prattle on," He said as he pulled out a cream sundress with light red roses on it. "If you be so kind as to put this on after you bathe."

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance." Franz smiled at her, almost warmly, before bowing and retreating from the room.

Willow looked around the small room, her eyes lingering on the bars over the window. She gripped the dress hanger tightly and gulped. This wasn't a nightmare; she was awake.

Chapter Four: Hellraiser

Angelus was quiet as he opened and closed the door behind him. He was content to just look at Willow who was staring out the window, one hand on a dark green drape. Without her usual layer of fluff, he was better able to admire her slender, fragile body. The room's color scheme, along with the moonlight flooding the room, cast an eerie glow about her.

She looked over at him, and except for the tremble in her delicate shoulders, bare to his gaze, and the stiffness of her jaw that belied her soft mouth, she seemed calm. Willow still looked furious, though. Angelus thought he might just pounce on her then and there. He could hardly wait to see those eyes darken with lust and flash hot rage while she clung to him shaking from passion and hatred. This had to be one of his better ideas.

"Buffy's going to kick your ass, you know," she said. He had started to think she was in shock because, although he could smell her fear, all he could see was rage.

Angelus laughed as he moved over to her. "I like your sass," he said before lightly backhanding her. Or what he thought was lightly, he might have been mistaken, as Willow spun hitting the window. Her harsh breathing shook her body and made the tops of her pert breasts strain the dress that, he now realized, was too tight in the chest.

She turned around and all of her anger and fear hit him, sending the blood rushing to his dick. Beneath the lashes, her lowered eyes promised murder.

The smell of blood reached him before the sight of the liquid dripping down the apple of her pale cheek. His ring must have scratched her, but she seemed not to notice it. He pulled her roughly into his arms. He used the tip of his tongue to chase the stray droplets of blood and then the broad side to clean the scratch. He growled when she tried to pull away.

His voice was harsh and thick when he whispered against the cut, "Do you have any idea how your blood tastes? All that anger and fear make it spicy, and your innocence makes it insanely sweet. I could get drunk on you. I wonder how you would taste with all the pleasure I can give rushing through you?" Angelus could imagine spending hours playing with her nude body and placing his mark on her thighs, belly, and breasts while watching her hate him, yet need him, desperately. There would be no devoted love like with Drusilla, or even love/hate as with Spike. He would keep her bound to him with hate and lust.

After a few parting licks to her cheek, he moved down to her neck, sucking and licking her flesh. Her heart was beating an enticing tattoo, yet her body was limp in his arms. He wasn't sure if he liked that before he realized what it was. When vampires feed, their victims sometimes go under a thrall, usually only once, but for most humans the point was moot. Angelus consoled himself that next time she would struggle.

One hand rose to play with her slightly curling hair. He had wanted to see if her hair was naturally straight and he was glad to see that without a hairdryer, it had soft waves. His other hand caressed her back softly to really relax her before his fingers began a drumming motion, and then a harder kneading. She was going to relax whether she wanted to or not.

"I can see us darling," He whispered between kisses on her shoulder which only had two flimsy straps to bar his way. "We're on this very bed. You're writhing, and moaning, and struggling against the ribbon I've tied your wrists together with. I'm giving your lovely, little body the attention that it deserves. Better than a dream. I know what you've been hiding and what those fool boys weren't able to see." His hands moved lower, giving her ass and thighs the same massage as her back. Looking up, he noticed that she had her eyes closed and was biting her bottom lip. There was a delicious battle of emotions on her face, just as he had hoped. Teenager girls still couldn't resist him. Her breathing was shallow and it took all of his self control to not free her from her restrictive garments and act out his fantasies. He had the feeling that she wouldn't resist much; she had gone placid and calm in his arms. Lulled by the illusion of lust mistaken for love. As much as he liked Willow aroused, he loved Willow in pain. He smiled soulfully. "If only I was telling the truth."

Chapter Five: Prezzie

Angelus paused at the door listening to Drusilla hum a lullaby to Spike. As he thought over his time in Sunnydale, he wasn't surprised that Spike was pissed at him. First he took over the boy's house, and then slept with Drusilla and not Spike. Not exactly diplomatic. Having a soul didn't do much for his people skills. If he was going to wipe out any trace of his do-gooder reputation, he had to start in Sunnydale with both Spike and Drusilla by his side. Angelus didn't like how he had handled things, but he was sure that this would put a band aid on the booboo.

Drusilla's singing took on a more sultry tone and Spike's stream of whimsical endearments stopped. He pushed the door open to a tension filled scene. Her lush dark hair was done up in two braids and she wore a sheer white nightgown. She was draped over Spike on the high mahogany bed, staring at her Sire with burning concentration as she ran her hand down his naked chest. While Drusilla had feigned modesty even if her gown clearly showed the outline of her nipples, Spike was unabashedly bare.

In the time Angelus had been back he hadn't seen his grandchilde in such a state. His eyes memorized his family; the lean, tightly muscled marble that he had spent nights beating into submission, and his not-so-little girl all slender limbs and graceful curves. He enjoyed the contrast, especially of their eyes; one pair green and inviting, the other blue and angry. It was times like this that Angelus' inner drama queen came out and wanted to shine.

"Just seeing you two brings out all these fatherly feelings, and with a new sister on the way, I'm down right paternal." He said with an exaggerated sigh at the end. He wasn't lying. The urge to get Penn and meet Sam Lawson was getting stronger by the day. Angelus had plans, bigger than Sunnydale, he wanted L.A. Of course he would keep Spike on the Hellmouth, but once his reputation was secure and the recon was done…

The city would be his and the Slayer couldn't stop him. Hell, she couldn't even drive a car, let alone get an apartment or a permission slip from her Mama; he had the little girl beat. L.A. would be the perfect place to groom Penn, and if he had luck, Sam, to take over other Californian cities in his name. Angelus had always been ambitious and now that he was feeling like settling down, only an empire would do.

He shed his burgundy shirt as he moved over on to the bed. Drusilla watched him with bright, excited eyes while Spike was weary. His princess, as usual, had already guessed his game, but the boy wasn't even in the ballpark.

"It's about time we all reaffirmed our bonds." Angelus said slightly tilting his head. Drusilla pushed Spike up, and after coyly licking his wrist, she bit deep. Her other pale hand brought one of Angelus' in its embrace. He had little time to appreciate the view before Spike latched on to his neck. He murmured thickly, "C'mere Dru."

_Buffy was squished between her Aunt Shannon and Grandma Vera on the old red sofa in the cemetery watching Angel and Willow have a picnic. _

_Angel stared longingly at the redhead as he ate cherry jello. Willow sat on the edge of the picnic cloth with her arms wrapped around her legs._

"_This is not going to end well." Grandma Vera said, shaking her head as she smoked a cigarette. _

"_Shouldn't you chase after her?" Aunt Shannon asked, pointing to Willow who was running into a open crypt._

_Buffy hoped up and chased after her into the crypt which turned into the upstairs hallway at her best friend's house. Willow dodged into her room. Buffy followed, but she was gone. The door had been ripped off of its hinges and was laid down in the hall. Buffy wasn't fighting the tears that ran down her scared, pale face. The room she stared into wasn't a room anymore; it was like the set of a bad horror movie. _

_Willow's bed was a heap of fluff, her treasured books looked like so many autumn leaves abandoned on the floor, the computer was scrap metal._

Buffy woke up, the sweat already becoming chilled beads on her skin. She was shaking as she peeled back the blanket. Her slayer sense was in hyper drive and her stomach was a mass of fire. She hadn't felt this sensation since Merrick, her old Watcher had died. The lamest part of the slayer package was the cramps that preceded the really bad events; to top that off, a prophetic slayer dream. The dream was fading, but the message was clear; Willow was in danger.

Buffy hyperventilated quietly, her eyes round and panicked. Her breathing didn't slow as she sat up and fumbled around in the dark for sweat pants but found none. The air was horribly still. She wasn't fast enough, even if it had only been a minute since she had gotten out of bed. With a cross and stake in her pocket, clad in only a thin camisole and Donald Duck boxers, Buffy climbed through her window and jumped off the porch roof.

Her heels burned and ankles throbbed when she landed, but she paid her body no mind when she took off in a run. The chill of the December air with its bite of the ocean didn't faze her, neither did the loss of her cross and stake. The only thing that mattered was the up-down of her legs as she raced to her best friend. She didn't want to think of what she would find, or if this would be the day she'd have to stop talking and kill Angel. If he killed Willow then it would be like he killed Buffy. She needed all her friends; they kept her alive and strong. They lead her from the dark and surrounded her with love.

As Buffy ran up the walk to Willow's door, she saw that the window to the balcony was broken, like something had been thrown out of it. The door was unlocked when she tried the knob. Looking over her shoulder, she was relieved to see that the sky was slightly pink. The sun would be up soon, so Angel wouldn't be there. Buffy flinched after the thought, her best friend was in danger and she was worried about seeing her ex.

She pushed the door open, resisting the desire to literally kick herself. The downstairs was dark and everything seemed normal; messy pile of books and psychology magazines on the coffee table, the gentle chime of the wall clock, and the warm air of the heater under the stairs. She walked up the steps, her breathing shallow as her eyes caught a glimpse of a door lying down in the hall, the corner of it stained by blood.

As she walked around the door and stared into the disaster area that was Willow's room, she had to clutch the banister top to keep her balance. There was a great 'A' written in a fancy old style, but the letter's lines were made up of five thin red lines on the corner of the wall where the bookshelf should have been. She prayed it wasn't blood, but that sickly metallic smell was everywhere.

She heard a rustle and ran into the room. Willow could be alive! She shrieked; the room was almost covered in blood and the view from the hall didn't do the carnage justice. And there was a twitching denim covered leg that was oozing blood at her feet, and lumps of red mush that might have been hands tossed on the bed; not to mention the vampire torso that was impaled on the bed with what looked like a branch.

Buffy thought she would retch; this was what Angel did. Her Angel, her Angel did this. The head attached to the torso let out a pitiful moan. She reached for her stake and it wasn't there….

The smell of blood settled in the back of her throat as she stumbled to what remained of the desk and shifted through the open bottom drawer for the stake she made Willow keep. She crouched and looked over her shoulder to see the missing limbs on the balcony threshold. She thought she was so going to yak. Buffy had to stake the vampire and everything would go away; all the blood, the gore, the vampire.

Finally she had the wood in her hands, crawling to the bed she raised the stake and brought it down fast. A whispered, 'thanks' echoed though the room before the sigh of the mutilated body crumbling to dust and the crash of the branch falling. She collapsed and saw the leg had turned into a pile of kitty litter. The blood on the wall seemed to disappear from bottom to top in a wave. Looking over she grabbed Willow's phone with trembling hands and dialed a familiar number.

"Giles?"

A line tying Angelus to a minion had been snapped. It was like a small sting, unlike if a childe had been killed, which would have been a gut wound.

His lazy smile turned into a smirk as Spike nuzzled his bare side, and Drusilla wiggled astride him. Her lush locks had long since broken free of their bindings and she looked like a dark Godiva, looking up at him from hooded eyes as she ran sharp French manicured nails down his naked chest. Angelus loved the looks Spike kept flashing Dru; the boy looked like he wanted to push her off his Grandsire…and take her place.

This was how life was supposed to be, he thought. Dru leaned forward and ground into him, her perfumed hair tickled the welts on his skin and her cool breath on his ear made him want to shudder. He settled for a manlier groan as her grinding became more insistent.

"Snap. Snap. Snap. Slayer found the mole. Wreck. Wreck. Wreck. She found the mess. Fight. Fight. Fight. She used the Knight. Bite. Bite. Bite. She was used and lost. Steal. Your. Pet…" She whispered a hint of jealousy powdering her voice.

"Need a translation, mate?" Spike murmured lazy from the crook of Angelus' neck. "I think she's talking about your new girl."

Dru would be a kink in his plan with Willow. She'd probably snap her neck one day, and it was damn difficult to be cross with her. He'd have to sweet talk her. He cupped her cheek and asked, "Dru, don't you want a sister? A new addition to our family? When Penn and Lawson come you'll be so outnumbered. I want you to have a companion to have 'girl time' with."

She hummed like an angry bee as she straightened; her movements became more serpentine as she swayed. Angelus wasn't going to let her have her way on this one and she would obey him. Right on schedule Spike saw how this could benefit him.

"Now, I can kill the Slayer. Luv, isn't that what you wanted?" Spike asked.

Angelus had a burst of inspiration. "She could be like a daughter…"

Drusilla tilted her head staring at Angelus and her eyes grew wide like the smile on her face. "Oh, I'll be a mommy, and she'll be my Vicious Darling… We'll be so happy; my Daddy, My Knight Spike, and my Vicious Darling."

He smirked and moved his hands up from her thighs to her bare hips. "Now, Dru, what were you whispering about before?"

"Slayer, found your prezzie and her heart screams in agony."

Chapter Six: Coping Mechanism 

Willow didn't feel like reading, even if Sal Paradise's trip to Mexico normally would have interested her. On The Road only made her think of drugs that would stop her from feeling the fear that, if she wasn't careful, sent her trembling. When she had taken a bath she had just trembled in the warm water and had to cover her mouth to keep her sobs quiet. The terror was always one step behind her.

Willow wished for a nice cocoon; all soft and fuzzy like a caterpillar's. She had gotten something close to that the one time her, Xander, and Jesse had drank Uncle Rory's bourbon before Jesse died. Willow had been paranoid because she was being naughty, and of course the dangers of teen alcoholism, but peer pressure prevailed. She would have never done it by herself, but now she wanted an escape; any sort of escape.

She knew that a clear head was the best thing she could have in this gothic nightmare. The problem was that the fear wasn't just about dying or torture, it was about staying alive and staying herself. Her clear head was creating some of her fear. She was scared of losing her identity as her plan called for her to be a girl who would hold Angelus' interest in keeping her alive. Willow would have preferred the plans where she was a hero, but she needed Slayer powers for that, or for the plans where she was more of a martyr, but she didn't want to die. It seemed there was no other choice. Was there so much shame in wanting to live?

This whole experience had changed her. It seemed odd since it was only the third day of being Hostage Willow, but it was true. She considered methods of survival that would have been inconceivable before, it was not like she threw all of her morals to the wayside, but she was seriously thinking of all she knew of Angelus and getting info from Franz so he wouldn't kill her right out of hand. She wanted to have time to escape, to be with her friends and family, which wouldn't happen if he just snapped her neck.

She needed to save herself and that was another thing she had learned; Buffy couldn't help her, and in fact, if Buffy had just killed Angelus… That wasn't fair. She didn't want to think like that, but it had hit her that being friends with the Slayer probably would get her killed. Buffy had saved her so many times, and she was Willow's best friend, but it just seemed that maybe the rule about Slayers working alone was to protect her would be friends. Though, just living in Sunnydale did make her fifty times more likely to die horribly than if she lived in Santa Fe for instance. But playing the Blame Game didn't help her. It was scary thinking that she was her own only hope, when there had always been Buffy to rush in and save the day.

She brushed her wet auburn hair. Willow was dressed in a shiny teal sundress that reached her calves when she stood. The chest was too tight. The whole look, complete with the fancy bun Franz was waiting to put up, made her look like a child playing dress-up. Baby with Mama's pearls, she thought, touching the ornate pearl cameo choker. One would have thought she would look grown up, but her girlish face ruined the effect. Her one glimpse of a mirror reminded her of those Regency portraits from the 1700s where the girls look like they were getting a kick in the pants to hurry them to womanhood.

"How long will you ignore me, Ms. Rosenberg?" Franz asked, sounding far away, even though he was right behind her.

"What? Oh, I was thinking." She set the brush down next to her as she faced the wall with her knee tucked under her. There was no need to see the pale manicured hand that picked up the brush because after she finished the thought he was already brushing her hair.

"I shall ignore the snub then," Franz said. He had an odd calming effect on her, not that she relaxed per se, but her 'deer in the headlights' feeling faded to more manageable levels. Franz also had another useful purpose; he was her info guy. She didn't even want to think about the possibility that he fed her bad information, but whatever the reliability of the answers, it was still question time.

"Why are you, no offense, like my babysitter?"

He chuckled. "I've been called quite a few names in my time, but that is new. I believe I prefer nursemaid." He was so dry and monotone that she couldn't help but giggle. He held her hair in one hand letting his knuckles lay against the back of her neck; he ran the brush though the wet strands sending cool water falling on her back bringing up goose bumps.

"No avoiding the question, Mister." She wagged her finger at his nonreflection in the mirror.

"I believe he is trying to keep me out of trouble," He said.

"Does that mean he doesn't trust you?"

"Why would he put me in charge of his pet if he didn't trust me?" He asked.

Willow blushed as she tried to think of a reply. "Maybe he thinks you'd try to take over Sunnydale or something."

"I'd have to agree with you if it was anyone else, but I have never wanted territory. I, myself, prefer freedom." He brushed the ends of her long hair. "Masters generally demand vampires in their territory to do odd jobs for them. Idle hands are the devil's playground." He coiled her hair into a bun.. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"Yeah." She leaned her head back and smiled up at Franz who returned it with a small but warm smile of his own.

"This all took place during King George's Reign and Angelus was only two decades in death. We were at this dinner party…

_"Where ever did Angelus stray?" Darla asked as she and Franz strolled arm in arm around the garden at the Fox estate. _

_"Remember that lout from Liverpool, the one who thought himself a wit with his insults of Angelus' brogue?"_

_  
"Hmmm, did my Darling Boy decide to repay the insult?" _

_"I believe so. He mumbled about 'arse' and 'Tyrone' and 'English oppression.' From the venom in his voice I could almost pity the Liverpudlian until the idiot started on about why the Low Countries were named thus. As is I have the urge to give Angelus a few suggestions." _

_Darla laughed. "Sometimes the English have no sense; just look at the American situation. Really, the colonies are going to revolt any day now." _

_"Oh yes, Angelus told me about your radical views. I suppose you're both pro?"_

_"Really, he is?"_

_"Anything against the English is his course." Franz said as their moonlit stroll was serenaded by the howls of the unfortunate Englishman, which luckily for the vampires, was covered by the warbling of the newest society beauty._

_The carriage ride was enlivened by Angelus' description of his foe's demise. Then Darla stuck her pale arm out of the window and rapped sharply on the wooden side. _

_"Driver!" She called out gaily, "Could you carry the men to Mrs. Windsor's at the King's Place." The look of surprise on the male's faces sent her into a fit of laughter. "I did promise you a night on the town, Angelus…"_

Franz moved her to face him as he finished his story. His quick fingers brought the few tendrils to look their best as he asked, "Any questions?"

"What's Mrs. Windsor's place?"

"A very exclusive brothel," he replied. Her expression must have surprised him. "And do you know…?"

Willow hated that, sure, she was a virgin and had only kissed a few times, but she loved to read, especially what she wasn't suppose to. She did know that people had sex. Why was it so surprising to everyone that she didn't blush every five seconds? If Xander or Buffy had said brothel she might have, but really, sex talk was the least of her worries. "Yes, I know what a brothel is, and my question is, why did she let you go?"

"That was one of her greatest virtues; she was very spontaneous. She always kept us on our toes," Franz said. "Boredom kills as many vampires as Slayers."

A thought came to Willow, but she was worried that it was too personal. He did give off a threatening-but-not-to-her vibe, but he had, like, four hundred years to perfect it. It didn't stop her from thinking of him as a friend. That was dangerous, and not just because he reported back to Angelus. She needed his information, she needed to see behavioral patterns in Angelus, and she needed to know about the whole crazy vampire family if she was going to live long enough for Buffy to get off of her ass and save her. Willow knew she was a scared little girl playing grown-up, and that blaming Buffy wasn't fair, but she needed to blame someone!

"You have a question. I can tell by your expression." He brushed back other errand strands, his fingers lingered in Willow's hair, and a wistful look came onto his face.

"I hate being so transparent," Willow said as the feelings of guilt and fear crashed against her. She leaned against his hand with a frown, trying to remember that he was a evil vampire, and not think of him as a friend.

"Actually, that was a guess. You always look curious." He smiled. "Now, your question?"

"What is Angelus to you?" She had to keep from nervously balling up her skirt in her palm, and it was difficult to calm her heartbeat.

He pulled his hand back from her face. His warm demeanor disappeared and he became the cool professional. "Do stop nibbling your lip. Endearing, yes, but a clear sign of your anxiety."

Besides being her transparency, she also hated how difficult it was to use her 'risk' strategy with Franz. She couldn't use her only defense against Angelus, Random Rampage; a series of unpredictable moves, on him. The most she could do was her South American Stronghold and leave nothing for him to attack or detect. But, there was something that told her that she was safer with him than anyone else in this horror house. He kept looking at her in his uncomfortable telescope gaze. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. Willow was beginning to think she needed another coping mechanism or anything to get her mind off that stare… Finally he spoke.

"I consider him a friend and companion. I'm neither family nor servant and I've made that abundantly clear since the beginning."

"Your stories make you seem like an uncle or something."

Franz cracked a smile and was about to say something until the door opened and a shirtless Angelus walked in. Willow tried hard not to notice how in the dim light of the room his chest was more defined as every shadow outlined every muscle. It was odd how that as Angel he was quite understandable; Buffy's brooding boyfriend, but in his soulless evil form he was just so mysterious and cryptic. Everything just made her more confused. She tried not to bite her lip and chanted 'Random Rampage' in her mind.

"Were you two talking about me?" Angelus asked with lazy confidence.

Willow surprised herself by answering calmly, "Yes." Sometimes it was like she wasn't in her body.

"All good?"

"From your point of view."

Franz smiled at them both and backed away. Angelus smirked and moved close enough so she could have licked the hollow between his abs. The thought made her blush as did his hand sliding over her still wet neck. His next move just angered her. He gripped her bun and pulled up, leaving her no choice but to follow. She glared at him and tried to speak, but he silenced her with the thumb on his other hand pressed to her lips. Willow wanted to bite the digit viciously. Her feelings about him were confusing. She had thought about him and her situation all day and had hoped to have figured them out.

His eyes were dark and intense as he focused on her neck. "Have I mentioned what a treat your blood is?" He murmured.

She gulped and the fear rose. "Many times, in fact," she whispered.

Then he was pressing his thumb nail against the top of her collarbone. She was confused on when it had left her face but the pain broke that up. She didn't care where it had come she only wanted it to stop. It hurt, and too soon blood pooled on her skin. The sparking pain wasn't enough to make her ignore the feeling of his hand on her butt.

Willow was left gasping when he started sucking harshly on the wound and cried out when he nibbled with blunt teeth. She grew silent soon and his attentions turned to licking the cut. His other arm was wrapped around the small of her back pushing her chest up and out to better reach her collarbone. She had to hold on to his back and she thought that they must look like a cover of those romance novels her mother pretended not to read. Her mind was swimming as he laid her on the bed, and she saw only him as the men walked out.

Closing her eyes, with a mind not to disturb her cut, she reached a hand above her head and tugged on a pillow from the top of the bed, and then very calmly pressed it to her face and screamed.

Chapter Seven: Mind Probe

He buttoned up his burgundy shirt, looking into the mirror watching the silk sheets move as Drusilla rolled on the bed talking about Willow. This was an important day. His princess and heir would meet his pet and soon to be childe. Her private approval would be the key to a peaceful household and publicly it would make Willow's transition into the Order of Aurelius smoother.

As contemptuous of his Sire's Order as he was, he knew the clout it held in the underground. He got on the council upon his sire's death and, with his soul's penchant for enemies, most in the order figured he would soon follow her. Consequently, Drusilla's power had grown with the ones in the know. Some, Spike included, thought that Penn would be his heir, but the boy had no imagination and Angelus still hadn't forgotten that incident in 1861. But Willow's standing was up in the air and who knew if he would bring her over.

Penn would soon learn of the change in succession when he and the mysterious Sam Lawson were summoned. Angelus had the minions stocking the cellar with humans as he was weakened from rejuvenating Spike. He had no idea how Penn would react to being second, and he didn't even know Lawson. The thought made him smile; he had always enjoyed theater.

When he woke up, the night had an auspicious air and he felt a dreamy seriousness. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but Drusilla was making more sense.

"Hmmm," His darling was pressing up against his side and her fingers were creeping up his neck. "Ticking…. Daddy is thinking. Heart as a walnut…" she trailed off then, her eyes, formerly slits, now widened. "Napoleon. Dreams of dynasties. Brother like the Turk. Winter is near." Her fingers moved his jaw to face her and she shook.

Angelus took her hands and kissed them before sinking a fang into her palm. He backed off leaving her to suck greedily on her wound. "Calm down, Dru, I don't have a Waterloo. Now, today, you'll be meeting your sister to be."

"Ooo, I should bring cakes."

"No, you'll need only yourself. Get dressed." He took one last look at his non-reflection before grabbing a tome of poetry off the dresser and stepping out of the room.

"Planning an old-fashioned family reunion, eh?" Spike asked before Angelus had closed the door. The boy was swaggering down the shadowed beige hallway with a cigarette perched on his lip.

"Yeah, it'll be just like old times, only now I won't stop Penn from giving you noogies."

"What about the new one?" Spike asked sharply before taking a long drag. Angelus' relations with Spike had warmed up considerably, but he still had to tread lightly. It was easy to forget that Spike was now a formidable vampire.

"I'm not worried. You turned decent minions who'll warn one of us if either of them acts up." A nice pat on the head to keep Spike happy and on his toes, then Angelus left to go to Willow's room.

She was lying on her stomach reading 'On the Road' and the tight bodice on the lilac floral dress she wore showed quite a bit of her pert cleavage. Willow looked up, then picked up her bookmark and saved her place before setting down the book. She got off the bed looking relatively calm, but the fear was undeniable.

"Hello," Angelus said as he walked up and touched one of the braids he made her wear. "How's Sal?"

Her eyes were focused on his hand but she answered promptly. "He's fine. It's Dean that's rolling with kids and wives. Compared to that, Sal's a peach." She blinked looking back at his face.

"I have a present for you." He handed her the collection of poetry by Browning "I know how much you like books."

"Thank you," She said as she examined the aged hardcover. "This was nice of you." He could see that despite herself, she was excited about new reading material. Suspicion had crept onto her face when she looked back up at him.

"You've never met Drusilla, have you?" Angelus asked twirling the braid around his finger. He was smiling. Willow was an excellent way to relax. His attention was on her neck and the blood pulsing in terror. He wanted to know how she could stay so calm and he wanted to know how far he had to go to break it.

"No."

"She'll be around soon. Dru's been pining away, wanting to see you." He checked her face and noticed that she frowned. Usually her mouth was in a straight, serious little girl line, so what was more frightening about Drusilla? "What?"

"Um, she is insane, right? She's not going to try to feed me to a doll?" Willow asked.

"Where'd you learn that?" Angelus asked pulling on her braid forcing her head to the side.

"Watcher's diaries," She gasped. Her eyes narrowed, then with a sigh she closed them, and she was composed again. Angelus wasn't sure he liked that calm anymore. It was fun when he could read her every expression. He roughly brought her face up and stared into her eyes. He smiled when he saw burning hatred slip out.

"Nice. What else do they say?"

"That you did something horrible to a puppy, but I try not to think of that."

Angelus chuckled and wrapped a hand around Willow's waist before spinning her in front of him. Drusilla clapped at the tableau from her place in the doorsill. She was wearing a long red and black number. Willow didn't wiggle too much, but she did shift, trying to get comfortable. He wondered again about just how he could break open her shell.

"Very pretty! My little Vicious Darling all warm and cuddly! Can I hold her Daddy? Please?" Drusilla asked, stepping up to his pet. She looked up at him through long lashes and started to pout.

"Fine, Princess, but don't harm her. She is a wee delicate." Willow looked back at him on that one. Her eyebrow was raised and he laughed. Her attention was back on Drusilla as his darling gathered her up in her arms.

Drusilla placed her hands on Willow's hips and looked down on her with the same mothering expression her dolls were graced with. His pet looked up at her with wide eyes and her body was rigid.

"Ooo, my newest is so pretty. Daddy, can I take out her plaits? I want put love knots through her hair, and doves, baguettes, and branding irons." She moved a hand up and put it on Willow's cheek. She asked all this while staring into his pet's eyes.

"Sure, Dru, but only take out her braids, leave the doves and the rest out of it." He hoped she wasn't going to try to thrall his pet, but he knew she would do as much as she pleased without stepping over the line. Angelus sniffed the air and rolled his eyes. Drusilla really did think his new girl was pretty. He had forgotten how much Dru liked to play with girls. "Princess, no seducing."

She frowned, but nodded. Ducking her head, she whispered in to Willow's ears. Her hand glided down to Willow's neck and circled the band aid covering his last feeding. What was she saying? Angelus was getting worried and Drusilla's glittering eyes didn't help.

Willow dropped the book, her head tilted at an angle, and her back was turned towards him. He wished he could see her face to see what shenanigans Dru was pulling on him.

"Drusilla, you can let go of her now." He was getting lonely being the odd man out at the girl party. She sighed but picked up Willow and laid her down on the bed. Smoothing out the girl's red hair and then her dress, she didn't noticed Angelus getting pissed. "What did you do?"

She spun around letting her dress flare around her ankles. She put a hand on his side and soon was clinging to him. Drusilla licked his neck before whispering, "Give our Vicious Darling a kiss." He shook Drusilla off and leaned over Willow who looked unconscious. He was going to beat the hell out of Dru later.

"Jesus, Drusilla, what…-," he asked before Willow opened her eyes and put her hand on his cheek. Her other hand moved to his neck and she sat up. Angelus was going to articulate his displeasure to Dru, but then Willow was kissing him. A lick a crossed his bottom lip opened his mouth and soon her tongue was massaging his. She was drawing him onto her before arching her back and wrapping a leg around his back. Deep into the kiss, his free hand caressed up her side. She was nibbling on his neck. That woke him up. She wasn't breath or pant or gasp from the lack of oxygen. She was under thrall and it messed with her breathing. Willow was going to be unconscious in a second if she didn't get any air.

Angelus pushed her down with one hand and backhanded her with the other. Willow took a deep breath and coughed. Angelus looked over to Dru who was smiling. His pet was shaking as he got up. He would send Franz in to take care of her.

"So, Dru, do you like her?" He asked, lips thin in a snarl, as he grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the door. She fucked up his progress in albeit an admittedly pleasant manner. Willow was supposed to succumb to his charm and sex appeal.

"Oh, yes, she is a treat," Drusilla said before walking out of the room. He followed, slamming the door behind him. His mind was spinning with how to deal with her without wrecking the delicate familial balance. His princess's punishment was more important than his trembling pet.

Chapter Eight: Reunion

Willow shook, lying on the bathroom rug waiting for the nausea to stop. Horrible, spine arching sobs were struggling for voice, but she wouldn't give in. Her stomach clenched at the memory of the pain she'd experienced when her mind had been breeched and she'd felt the vulnerability of not being in control of her own body. There was no where to hide if he could just order Drusilla to violate her mind. Willow thought she might be sick again. Why couldn't Buffy be saving her now?

There was a knock on the door and she knew it was Franz. She couldn't throw up anymore because he'd know-- and then Angelus would know. She was trapped and everything was exposed, and no 'Risk' strategy could change that. She felt like crying again.

"Miss Rosenberg?" He asked, crisp and brisk.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was dry, so she stumbled to her feet, holding on to the sink for support. Turning on the water, she rinsed her mouth out. Willow managed a shuttering 'just a second,' before splashing water on her face. She looked like a nightmare with her hair matted and wild, eyes red. She grabbed mouthwash and gargled while running a brush though her hair. It was a doomed exercise, but Willow tried to look presentable. Pinching her cheeks as she walked over to the door, she took a deep breath before opening it.

"Hi," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. He sat in the chair across from the bed with a serious expression on his face.

"I've been informed you've suffered a traumatic experience," he said. Willow nodded. "Would you care to speak of it?" She shook her head. "Not even to ask a question?"

"Bastard," she said without venom. She was too easy to read.

"I've been told. Sit, you look faint." He gestured to the high back chair with one hand and held a glass of water with the other.

She obeyed and sat, curled up in the chair, facing him "Has she ever been in your mind?"

"She's tried, but I rendered her unconscious," Franz said, handing her the glass.

Willow nodded, taking a sip before setting it on the table. "I have girly arms. I couldn't do that." She didn't want to look at Franz. She wanted to keep all the emotions she couldn't get off her face secret. "Did it hurt you when she broke into your mind? Because it hurt. A lot. It didn't stop until she did. I could feel fingers poking at my brain forcing my movements. I couldn't even fight it." Willow sighed and laid down on the bed moving her hand over her eyes. She wanted to confess it all but Franz was one of them. Tears were forming again. "I'm sorry, Franz, but could I be alone? I really want to sleep."

"As you wish, Miss Rosenberg, do feel better."

She didn't watch him leave, but when the door clicked shut she stood and walked to the wardrobe. She didn't want to leave signs she was upset. After pulling out a nightgown she shed her dress and put on the nightie. She put the dirty laundry in the hamper, then moved to the bed and slid between the covers, curling up and wishing for her mother. She cried until she fell asleep.

***

"Where is she?" Buffy asked after staking Angelus' minion.

He leaned against a mausoleum, smirking like an angry slayer was funny. He wouldn't think she was funny if he knew what she was thinking. She had gone on a rampage through Sunnydale's demons trying to vent her frustration at not being able to find his new haunt. Willy was still nursing a black eye and fat lip after he was unable to give her an answer.

"Don't worry, Buff, your gal pal's fine. Drusilla's taking good care of her."

"Oh, gee, I wonder why that doesn't reassure me?" Buffy snapped. "Could it be 'cause Drusilla's a psycho?"

"Name-calling? Really?"

She stalked up to him with her stake at the ready. "Yeah, and I got a new one for you-- dust."

"Lover, are you calling me out?" Angelus asked his smirk replaced by a wide grin.

She threw a punch to his gut in reply and used the hand holding the stake to jab his kidneys.

His fist pounded her temple.

Her eyes unfocused before she spun and kicked him against the tomb. Buffy needed breathing room, so she did a back flip just missing her ex. She had to be careful, there were small tombstones underfoot and she couldn't afford to trip.

Angelus kicked her thigh.

she fell on her palms. The stake had left a painful splinter and she winced. Panting, she stared up at him through her lashes before launching her feet into his chest. She landed astride him and pressed her stake to his heart.

"Where is she?" Buffy asked.

They were still. Buffy watched him as his smirk started to fade and his eyes glanced west.

"You won't find her. I'm starting to take a liking to the girl," he leered. Angelus bucked up and she was knocked over his head. He stood and laughed."She's a treat when she's naked and bleeding."

She closed her eyes and when they opened again, full of tears, he was gone. Was she too late? Was her best friend dead? Buffy jerked to her feet and ran towards the school. Giles was still there writing a report for the council and thinking up a story to explain the disappearance.

She hoped no one else would be there. Xander would go crazy and do something stupid again like go to the factory. That's how they found out it was abandoned. He was going to set it on fire. Snyder's car was still there when she loped into the parking lot, so she had to go slow in the building. It was torture to pad down the hallway when she needed to be at the library now. Finally, she slipped in the doors and found Giles. Buffy didn't waste time, she jumped into her story. Reaching Angelus' parting shot, she paused.

"He said the next time we saw Willow, she would be a vampire."

***

The minions stood at attention, their true faces showing as Penn walked into the room. He was surprised to see so many; his sire used to view them as an inconvenience. Franz stood at the entrance waiting to greet him and lead him to Angelus. He nodded, his face blank, but he felt anxious. They walked up the curved staircases with the thump of the minions footsteps as accompaniment. There was going to be a feast tonight with a scared family as dessert. Franz opened the door that separated Angelus from the horde below. The upstairs was decorated in shades of beige with Spanish ironwork everywhere, giving it a decadent, genteel air. The purpose of the drama was to impress, and it succeeded. Penn had walked in with a duffel bag over his shoulder and found that little had changed; his sire still drowned in style.

Franz opened another door, from which family bonds radiated. Penn sniffed the air and detected that his sire's blood had been shared; it made his mouth water. The door closed behind him as he knelt in front of his sire.

"Penn, no kiss?" Angelus asked with the same old smirk. He stood languidly and motioned for his long lost childe to rise. "Me boy, how've you been?" He murmured thickly before Penn was in his arms.

Their kisses were brutal in their intensity, and their demon visages brought forth. Penn's duffel bag was thrown aside as were the remains of his shirt as Angelus continued his assault. Beloved hands caressed his torso exploring the chilled flesh, invoking cries of lust. He had dreamed of this meeting with his Sire for over a century. The reality was better; all he could do was moan was 'sire, sire, sire'. The pleasure was too much. When the backs of his knees hit the bed, he went down and his legs were spread.

"It's been too long, boy." Angelus' eyes were black with desire and his hands were blurs removing garments. Penn felt a surge of pride and a surge of blood, turning his member to rock. His sire was a marble god between his legs; broad shoulders, firm muscles, and the face of an angel. He must have said some of that out loud because Angelus paused. "You've read Spike's poetry?"

He wanted to respond, but a skilled hand reached down and began a mind blowing rhythm.

***

Penn was alone when he awoke. The antique clock on the mahogany nightstand said that it had only been two hours since he'd arrived. He passed out after the last orgasm. He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom to gently sponge clean, while keeping his sire's scent on him. Penn dressed quickly, determined to find Angelus. Opening the bedroom door, he faced Spike who smelled of whiskey and had a snarl on his face.

"Where's Drusilla?" he asked, puzzled by the breech in tradition which held that his sister would bring her childe to greet him. "Or Angelus?"

"With his new pet, so here I am. I see the welcome wagon pulled in and you put out."

"Are you drunk?"

"a bit, yes."

"What do you want?"

Spike staggered as he walked down the hall with a motion to follow, "Got claimed again, yeah?" Penn grabbed his unblemished neck in reflex. "Thought not. So, you know about the succession, right?"

"I'm heir," Penn said, confused.

Spike whirled around, leaning on the wall for balance. He chuckled. "And you're not staying in his bed?"

"What?"

"Ought to be on Jeopardy, mate. Listen, I'm not gonna be real subtle. He bumped Dru up to tie her to 'm more. He made her heir. Now, he's got that pet she can't shut up about."

"Liar. Drusilla's insane, why would he choose a madwoman over his first?"

"You know he's still got his knickers in a twist over that thing in '61." Penn opened his mouth to deny it, but Angelus, Drusilla, and Franz walked into the hallway.

"Have the boys been playing behind mummy's back?" Drusilla asked, twirling towards them. "My happy family is almost complete; soon we'll have our brother and a new sister!" She balanced on tip-toe and kissed them both before gliding forward.

"Come on boys, the entrées may have heart attacks before we get there," Angelus said, walking between them to put an arm around Drusilla. He was grinning and relaxed.

"And will Miss Rosenberg be secure?"

"Don't worry, Franz, Dru hasn't failed me yet,." he said, looking fondly down at her. Penn felt a chill settle in his stomach as his eyes focused on his sire.

He and Spike were behind their sires and in front of Franz as he leaned over and wrapped an arm around Spike's shoulders. Penn was smiling, belying his words, "We'll talk more later." They looked toward their sires. "Later."

Chapter Nine: Storyteller

It had been a hectic eight hours since Penn's arrival, and Angelus needed to relax. Willow's steady heartbeat and breathing were calming for him to sketch by, as he committed to paper the way she had looked the day she met Drusilla. Her eyes had been enormous and her face filled with terror as she'd laid shaking on the bed. It was a good drawing to leave at the library to illustrate for her friends how things were going for her.

Willow was peaceful now, escaping him in sleep. He'd questioned Franz, and had been told that she never seemed to have nightmares. That upset him; he should be the star of her nightmares, but she awoke with smiles. He wanted to see that change. He wanted to see her in hysterics. But she kept defying him. She didn't even make a fuss when Drusilla had tapped into her mind again. He'd even made Franz wake her up first.

Angelus was conflicted about Willow. The urge to rip her psyche apart and keep another monument to his malice was strong, but he also wanted a sane childe. He wasn't conflicted about wanting her--what form she should take was what was eluding him.

There was something about tonight that made him feel nostalgic. The sketch was almost done, it just needed slight shading around her eyes to convey fear. Willow shifted and her heartbeat increased, so he put aside the picture; she was going to wake up. Angelus was lounging in a chair he had moved so the first thing she would see was him. He matched the blue room in his navy wife beater and cream linen slacks. Her green eyes were opening, and, indeed, she was wearing a small, gentle smile. Then, she saw him and sat up abruptly, scooting back, pressing herself against the headboard. She was watching him with silent wariness, as the pulse in her neck jumped, and there was a visible tremble to her hands.

"Franz tells me you like a good story," Angelus drawled. Without warning, he moved with preternatural swiftness to the other side of the bed. The fear on her face was worth it, when he stopped, and was sitting right next to her. He grabbed her arm, and pulled her wiggling body onto his lap. She struggled, jabbing him in the stomach and collarbone. She was no match for him, and soon gave up her pathetic efforts. Pressing a large hand over her right breast and clutching her left hip, he held her arms in a vice grip. Ever since he had come back without a soul dragging on him, it felt like he was rushing to prove something to himself, to his childer. Willow's heartbeat fluttering with fear made everything feel simpler.

Continuing with a smile and chuckle, he said, "Well, Darling, you're in luck. I fancy myself a storyteller."

"This tale takes place in the winter of 1863; it was the season that my sire pronounced Drusilla ready for society. Well, as ready as she'd ever be…"

_Vienna was a glittering snowy, jewel that winter, with every indication that nature would allow the season's holidays to be enjoyed to the fullest. Darla was most pleased with the newest fashion invention; the lightweight crinoline. Angelus' obsession with Drusilla had waned enough that he could bear to have her unchained and out of his bed._

_Through pure feminine wiles, Darla had wrangled them an invitation to some Archduke or another's first night of Christmas party. No detail in clothing or manner was too small, as Darla had wanted a new city to conquer, because it would be twenty years or so before they could go back to England. _

_Angelus soon lost Darla in the crowd, but had Drusilla by the arm and was soon dancing with and delighting his young childe. She was keeping quiet, but a stray comment about frog's legs and shining knights caught the ear of a nosy meddler, and it wasn't until later that it was passed on through the party to Darla. The excitement from the wine and dancing was turning Drusilla's head, and her babbling was bordering on embarrassing. So, 'twas a simple thing to take her by the elbow and lead her to another parlor, and then into the deserted conservatory. But there was a factor that he hadn't counted on; a ghost. The damn things were known to cling to vampires out of spite and malice. Drusilla was, of course, charmed. The knocking started first; on the windows, then the furniture, and finally, it threw a flowerpot at Angelus' head._

"_Lilies in the air…my Angel knows how to treat his princess. What a party!" Drusilla twisted in his grasp, giggling and swaying, letting her fingers brush the white petals that flew past her. "Blood of Begonias, perfumes of poppies, and the decay of death in both spirit and flesh." She moaned, turning around and scratching at her arms. "I want you now."_

_Unfortunately for Angelus, that wasn't to be; the commotion caused by the ghost had attracted a herd of people. Darla managed to beat the crowd of food to the room, and snapped irritably, "God, can't we shut that girl up? And, dear boy, calm down." Flicking her eyes left and right, watching the destruction the ghost was creating, she stepped out of the way of a wicker chair leg and shook the dirt from her skirt. The sound of the party moving toward the racket of the conservatory made Darla sigh, and then slipping into her demon visage, hiss at Drusilla. Who, luckily, began to cower and cry as the Archduke walked in and gasped in amazement; all of his exotic, prize winning flowers were moving through the air, sprinkling dirt everywhere. Then his expression turned to one of fear when the windows started to break._

_Drusilla started to shriek most improperly, so Darla took her by the hand, leading her outside, saying something about "fainting" and "night air," for appearances. Angelus watched them go and smiled._

_Soon, he politely made his excuses, gave his perfectly preformed bewildered questions about the ghostly spectacle, and followed the ladies. When he reached the patio, he watched Darla whisper something to Drusilla before suddenly punching her in the temple. Enraged, he caught the younger girl as she fell, and went into his demon visage, growling._

"_Do you want to enjoy the fruits of this city?" Darla demanded. "If so, then call for a valet and have her taken home. She did well enough, but if you want to drain plump Austrians in style and comfort, you'll keep your peace." Her fine, classical features took on a cold slant and she looked imperious standing there in her green velvet gown. Her wide skirt and tight bodice made her seem a fortress. He knew that argument was futile and nodded his consent. "That's my boy. Let me make it up to you."_

"…So, my sire made good on her word," Angelus told Willow, "and the slums of Vienna lost some unfortunates that night after we made an early exit."

He sighed, his grin wistful, as he remembered the game they had played trying to figure out what language their victims were screaming in. The gypsies were the best; cursing, yelling, and praying in so many varied and interesting ways. He closed his eyes in contentment, sniffing the air; Willow was frightened and shaking. There was a crack in her armor. Now was the time to push buttons.

She was warm under his hands, her heart beating wildly under her breast, which was a perfect fit for his hand, and her hip was a lovely curve. He increased the pressure of his fingers and started to kiss her neck. She was crying. It was all so delicious. The promise he'd made not to rape or coerce her was going to be difficult for to keep. Especially when her tears slowed and he could see her challenging and tempting 'resolve' face shining under her tears.

"You know what Angel thought of you? He thought how very innocent you were; how trusting and sweet. He also thought, deep down, at night, tormenting himself, of what a good little whore you would make. It was really because of him I ever even noticed you. He thought you were cute and I thought you would be a fun project. I didn't even have to provide fantasies. That darkness inside of himself, that he tried not to wish he could tap and make grow, fostered lots of wicked Willow fantasies. How many times he-"

"Stop! I don't want to hear this. I don't have to hear this," Willow said, her lower lip trembling and her eyes closed, struggling not to break down. He caressed her hip gently, squeezing her breast roughly, and rotated his hips against her faster than he had during his story.

"What? It's just a little story. Come on, Willow, is it only story time fun hour when Franz is here? Because that hurts. In fact, I'm insulted." Laughing, he pushed her away and, after getting out of bed, blew her misery crumpled face a kiss. "Oh, come on, don't be like that. You enjoyed it."

******

It was quiet in the library; Giles' hushed voice was the only sound. Leather-bound tomes were laying open on the table where Buffy and Xander sat. They were pale and their expressions only continued to grow more and more distraught as Giles read aloud from a dusty volume.

"I have tried to initiate contact with the girl seer," Giles read, "but was thwarted by the presence of the infamous vampire, Darla, and her Irish spawn, Angelus. The demons have just killed a Catholic priest and left the body in the girl's neighborhood." The Watcher paused. "This is the first record of Angel's soon to be legendary obsessions. The turning of Penn has, ah, no description. But I think that the similarities between his 'courtship' of Drusilla, and his recent actions toward Buffy are striking. There is a method to his madness."

"That isn't comforting. He drove Drusilla crazy," Xander said, his voice muffled by the table his forehead was pressed against. "Can't we just go in Rambo style, snatch Willow and run? What about grenades?"

Giles sighed. "Xander, look at the obituaries. His forces are growing. We can't take two master vampires and a horde of minions."

The young man pushed himself up and got out of the chair. "So, we let Willow get tortured and killed." He paused, his face twisting into a grimace. "As fun as this has been, I have math class to ditch." Xander grabbed his bag and walked out, leaving the others to watch the swinging doors in his wake.

"That was not-" Giles started.

"No, it was fair. They are like family to each other. It's been seven days and she is still there," Buffy said, looking sad and distant. "Could we use grenades? That Army base is still built like a Jenga tower."

"No, I don't think so."

She looked down and twisted a chunky ring on the finger that had so recently been graced by the one that Angel had given her. Her voice was strong but she kept her head down when she spoke. "Give it to me straight. What are the chances that she is still alive?"

Giles closed the book and picked up a new diary to study. "Well, Angel's habit of mentally breaking down his victims works in our favor. Time wise, that is. If he were going to kill her purely to hurt you, he probably would have already done it. His comment about turning her seems to be our best indication that she's still alive. He did turn Drusilla's sister and had her kill another sister. But we don't know." Putting down the diary, he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We don't know."

He pulled out a chair across from Buffy and sat down. "When will Willow's parents be back?"

"My mom talked to them and they are coming back in three days."

Giles swore, and then apologized before he said, "Well, that is bloody lovely of them. When most missing children end up dead in the first two days, they need a week to get back from Dallas. No matter; that works for us, as well. We have time to think up a story." He rested his chin on his knuckles and his elbows on the table.

"All these things that 'work in our favor' really seem to suck for Willow," Buffy said, her voice hoarse and her eyes wide and watery. Her strength had given way. She still didn't lift her head. "I have to go."

Giles didn't watch her leave; instead, he looked down at a book laying open with Angel's smiling picture on one of its pages.

"Bastard."

Chapter Ten: Apple Pie

The lost son arrives and the fatted calf is brought forth, Sam Lawson thought, but not until the lost son humbles himself. He could smell the blood that called to his own, it screamed family and power. It made his skin crawl. Under the layers of his dark clothes, he felt cold. He slammed his car door shut. Walking up the mansion's sidewalk, he looked at the house with a grin. Trust dear old Dad to live in a house that might as well be a giant phallus for all the size and jutting turrets. Lawson hadn't checked on Angel in two years. He had been busy in Toronto. Canadians scream differently from everyone else in the western hemisphere, he'd been conducting a little study on it. The message that Hyde was out of Mr. Jekyll was a shock. He had known that there was a time when his Sire was an even bigger asshole but to learn that he was back to bad, well, that was a different thing all together. Lawson might mock his Sire in his head but he knew what the bastard could do. The only thing the soul did was make Angel pull most of his punches. He had smelled more of his sire's spawn. There was no doubt that this was going to be a hell of lot more interesting than Toronto. Canucks be damned.

A minion opened the door as he reached the door. Lawson walked into the mansion and almost laughed. The place looked like a mix between a Cher video and Mexican brothel in the old west. Huge candles that reached his waist were placed along the adobe looking walls and a black iron chandelier hung from the reddish ceiling. It looked like a small ballroom. The door minion gestured to the curved stairs where a bland, sandy haired man stood near a elaborately carved teak door. As Lawson got closer he noticed what was carved on the door. It looked like Michelangelo's David but David's hands had been cut off.

"Good evening, I am Franz Pieterzoon. I am in the service of Angelus, sired by Darla, of the Order of Aurelius. A feast of young Mormon missionaries and an Asian accountant will be followed by a dessert of illegal Mexican nationals. If you will be persuaded to follow me then I shall take you to your Sire. I believe he is resting with his childe-heir and his human pet."

"Yummy. Let's go." Lawson followed Pieterzoon through the doorway and into a lush looking hall. He had been wrong if he thought that the upstairs would be classier. The down stairs looked like dusty roadhouse compared to the decadence of the upstairs. Decorative iron work was swirling everywhere. The upstairs looked a whorehouse that the old Spanish Viceroy would have visited. The only thing that Angel's mansion was missing was an old Mexican guitar player with a cigar on his lip. "Who else is here?"

"Penn Bracklow, first childe of Angelus and William Lely also known as The Bloody and recently as Spike, he is the childe of Drusilla, who is as you may have guessed, the Childe-Heir." Pieterzoon gestured with a flat hand. Lawson saw two fair-haired, one unnaturally so, men walking down the hall. He figured that they were Penn and Spike. He recognized Spike. Last time he had seen him it had looked like he had blackened his hair with shoe polish. The platinum Marilyn Monroe hair and the crinkly leather jacket was much more flattering than the black hair and Nazi uniform. Smiling good-naturally, he walked forward to greet them. He had been wondering when the whores were going to show up.

"Hello. I'm Sam Lawson," He said sticking his hand out. Penn shook it but Spike just raised an eyebrow. "I guess this is a family reunion. Though, I've only met Spike and Angel so its more of family introduction." Lawson put on his sweetest, Mama-loving, American GI act.

"Right," Spike said with a sneer and a head tilt. Penn grinned and punched Spike lightly on the shoulder. "Oi! What? Franz, what does Apple Pie got to do now that 'e's here?"

"My instructions were to take him immediately to Angelus and introduce him to Drusilla."

Penn's eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened for a moment but he said, "Well, then Spike we had better check on the food."

"See how that Asian is stewing," Spike said as they walked passed Lawson and Pieterzoon.

Interesting. Lawson didn't know what to make of his 'brothers' but it was high time he did. He knew that Penn was the oldest Childe while Drusilla was the heir. There were many questions that he had but as he was in this bordello of Angel's; answers would have to come by subtle means. Any vampire with a nose could smell the musk of Angel's sex on them and any vampire of Angel's blood could smell the lack of claiming. There was something rotten in Denmark and Papa was at the center of it. Lawson had studied the Order of Aurelius and Angel along with whoever he had sired. The Order had a fierce and noble reputation in the demon world but its notables had faded and its leader had been killed. It was a tough old dog alright but the old dog was losing teeth. Angel had much to lose in this dangerous game to bring back and control the Order. Smiling, Lawson gestured to Pieterzoon to continue on his way. Oh, yeah, the Canucks could wait.

As Lawson walked up to the open door, feeling the electric tingles and smelling the scent of family radiating from it, he heard a small girlish voice whisper about dragonflies and bumblebees. He felt his sire as if a hot, damp cloth was wrapped around him. The presence of the heir was like splotches of fire on his skin. The sleeping human in the room didn't register more than a passing thought in the presence of such power and family. He stood in the doorway and made eye contact with Angel.

"Hello, Sire."

Angel was sitting in a high backed wooden chair with Drusilla bundled up on his lap. He had never seen his sister before. Her face was obscured behind a tangle of shiny, black curls as her face was turned toward Angel's. The red gown she wore was sheer about her legs but grew opaque at mid thigh. Her shoulders were pale and her collarbones stuck out. She was insane heroin chic personified. Angel was studying him, ignoring the little caresses of the childe-heir, with a expression more suited for a marble statue. Lawson slowly knelt, bowing his head, waiting for his sire to speak. He watched him through his eyelashes and dark fringe. Submission was a jacket he threw on and off.

"Sam Lawson; sired while the soul was inhabiting the body, leader of the massacre of the Akakios Coven, and current tormentor of Canada. Who are you? What should I do with you? Kill you outright for bringing up memories better left forgotten?" Angel looked pensive and pursed his lips. "Sam Lawson, Sam, Lawson, Sammy Sam Sam, Sonny, Laaaawson…" He said as if savoring and tasting the name. "You're not who I would have chosen. I like my boys blond and shy, almost damsel-ish. You, on the other hand, were an upstanding GI with Mom in your heart and America the beautiful on your mind. You lead and commanded, were strong and competent, and altogether too earnest and confident. I like 'em weak in the knees and ready to faint. Though you've done good. Killing, pillaging, and wreaking havoc and the such, just like if I taught you at my knee. Well, guess that means you're in. Get up and met your family."

"Thank you," Lawson murmured as he stood. So, Angel was playing the eccentric, he could deal with that.

"I heard you meet Penn and Spike. Spike's a little obnoxious, piss-ant isn't he?" Angel stood abruptly without waiting for Lawson to answer. Drusilla clung to him until she gained her footing. Lawson waited for her to throw an angry word or glance their Sire's way but her eyes remained glossy and empty. He shied away from full eye contact from her but there was something in her expression that warned him that she might not be the insane, dimwit that the rumors spoke of. "Now, Sammy, we have a feast waiting for us."

Lawson smiled and nodded, letting Angel and Drusilla go through the door first. His eyes dulled once he was behind them. He hated the name Sammy. Brightening as he followed them, he wondered about Drusilla's black eyes when she turned her head and looked at him. Invitation flashed in them. He winked at her.

"Sammy, I don't know how you feel about Mormons but I find that the lack of caffeine in the blood makes it a mellow vintage," Angel boomed as he strode forward.

"Oysters and eels makes the clown fish weary but snakes and turtles makes high tea an event. My Daddy puts on such good socials!" Drusilla cooed, running a long finger down their Sire's neck. As they waited for Pieterzoon to open the door, Angel nibbled on Drusilla's fingers.

"I'm glad my girl approves."

Lawson didn't miss the true affection between them. It seemed as if Angel understood the mad woman's words. They soon followed Pieterzoon down the stairs where a long, wooden table had been set up. Two young dark haired, naked men were tied up and left unconscious in the middle of the table. Lawson's smiled turned real for a second. It was good to know that his Sire wasn't as tacky and stupid as he had imagined. Some vampires thought it was the height of class and horror to have their victims conscious for meals at home. Humans run, scream and soil themselves when they are frightened and unless one is hunting or having some fun there is no reason to stand the caterwauling and drama. Besides the scent of terrified prey only brings out the hunter in a demon so business will always end in bloodshed of the dinner as well as the dinner guests. Lawson was relieved for a multitude of reasons. He was confident that he would survive the night.

Spike and Penn were sitting on one side of the table where they were a study in contrasts. Penn was straight backed with his hands flat on his thighs while Spike had his dirty boots slung over on the table and one hand behind his head as the other scratched his crotch. The cigarette on his lip seemed more like a prop than a real mode of addiction. Lawson noticed that Penn's eyes glimmered amber as he stood to greet their Sire. Spike was slower to rise, his face was devoid of expression except for a cocky smirk. Spike was the one to watch, Lawson decided. For all his youth, he was able to hide his feelings much more successfully than Penn. It was no wonder that Angel choose the seductive and mysterious Drusilla over the simple, Sire-struck Penn. Angel and Drusilla stopped at the end of the table. He motioned for Lawson to take his right. Nodding, he gestured for the other men to relax. Confusion grew in the back of Lawson's mind; this couldn't be right. It was subtle but any Master Vampire worth his salt could see the tension coming from Spike and Penn. The two were separate spheres of disquiet and rebellion. Lawson watched Angel look around the table and noted the flick of his eyes when they landed on his other childer. His eyes warmed on Drusilla who smiled prettily, cooled on Penn who seemed to jump to attention, and them grew contemptuous on Spike. There wasn't much of a reaction from Spike. Angel seemed satisfied by the status quo. Lawson kept his polite smile on but his mind was busily connecting the dots.

"We'll talk shop once we've gone through the first course," Angel said with smirk moving over to the first human. Grabbing him by the back of the neck, he motioned for Drusilla to do the same with the other one. Drusilla rose like a cobra from her seat as if Angel was her snake charmer. "Spike, go to your Sire. Penn, take the left wrist. Sammy, time for family bonding." Like veteran dancers they took their places. Angel sunk his fangs deep into an artery watching his childer; Drusilla giggled before following suit. Penn seemed to drool from lust at the sight of Angelus feeding. Lawson wanted to deck the prick for being a dumb ass, all that power and age in an imbecile. Spike kissed Drusilla's wrist before he bit viciously into her human's. Lawson dipped his head and slipped his fangs through the meaty wrist; he drank deep. Family politics and family blood were both heady and dangerous; Lawson didn't know how he should proceed. His path was full of stones and seemed to lead to hell.

Sam Lawson had his last great shock the night he had died when he found out that nightmarish monsters were real. Watching Angel's satisfaction as he viewed his clan fit the pieces together in Lawson's head. Angel had planned it all this way; he bound all of them with the darkest of emotions. Even Lawson wasn't immune. He almost dropped the bleeding wrist from shock.

Chapter Eleven: Boats and Birds

The air conditioner was down in the library. Giles's small, pitiful fan did nothing to ease the greenhouse conditions of the library. Taking his glasses off, Giles walked over to the large library table and sat next to the oscillating fan. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Buffy and Xander's presence weren't helping the atmospheric conditions, their faces were drawn and tension radiated from them. Giles knew they were seconds from another outburst, he didn't know if he would be any more successful in calming them down as he was last time. An encyclopedia of nefarious vampires was molding and reeking of dust in front of him but he couldn't concentrate on its onion skin pages. He doubted that Buffy and Xander were able to concentrate either, but that was the case usually. Willow had been much more of a researching helpmate to him. She had always been so eager and cheerful, if at times a tad irritating in her enthusiasm. Giles looked over at Xander and knew that he would be the first one to break his silence. The youth's brown eyes were narrow and his mouth twisted as he looked over at Buffy. As if realizing that their were eyes upon her, Buffy lifted her eyes from her 18th century pamphlet.

"Did you find anything?" Giles asked softly, trying to halt the confrontation that he could feel starting to bloom. "Any insights or weakness?"

"Of course she didn't. No one has found anything. This isn't helping Willow at all. What are we going to do, scare Angel with woodcuts?" Xander said in a harsh tone.

"Damn it, Xand--" Giles said, raising the fist that held his glasses and pointing it at Xander. Buffy interrupted him.

"Yeah, because your plan is like Waterloo. Willow's going to be so grateful when Angel kills you. Anything we do could end in ours or Willow's death! We've got to be smart about this."

"How do we know that your beau hasn"t already kil-- hurt her yet? What if she isn't Willow anymore? We have to get her soon or we never will!" Xander said, pushing his occult volume towards Buffy.

Buffy shook her head at him. "How do we do that, Xander? How do you propose we go into a mansion crawling with vampires and come out alive?"

"You're suppose to be a superhero! You're the Slayer! The one girl, the chosen one, in all the world with the strength and skill to kill vampires." Xander ended his sentence quietly. Giles wished he would have yelled as it would have been easier to Buffy. She could just write off his remarks as frustration and fear over Willow's disappearance. The disappointment in his face was visible as he looked at Buffy as if seeing her for the first time. Grabbing his bag, Xander threw it fast onto his back before stalking out of the library.

"Damned hothead," Giles mumbled for Buffy's benefit. The watcher knew the truth as well as the unfairness in the youth's words. Harsh, Xander had been, but everyone was feeling the same. It was none of their fault while at the same it was all of their fault. If Xander had been here, or Buffy there, or Willow more cautious, or Giles been watching. It was his calling and profession, but when the time had come for clear vision, he had been blind.

Buffy's forehead wrinkled and her lips quivered as she reached a hand up to cover her eyes. Leaning back in her chair, she hung her head, while Giles watched, grieved, as the tears fell. Her hiccupping, tiny sobs shook her little body and Giles felt helpless. Comforting had never been his skill; his slayer would have none of it anyway.

"Why does he always have to be so right? I mean, he still has Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sheets and has been in Geometry for two years. I'm the Slayer. I'm the Slayer." Buffy's tear-coated and hoarse words broke off into a whisper as she closed her eyes. The mascara was pooling under her eyes and her mouth gaped open for harsh breaths as she tried to control herself.

"But you"re still human."

***  
Angelus flipped on his coat as he watched his non-reflection in the mirror. Spike was reclining on the bed and Angelus could feel both him and his eyes even though they were missing from the glass. Tugging on the lapels of his coat and tilting his head back, Angelus smirked to himself. He turned around, holding out his hand, as he walked to the bed.

"Liner," Angelus said. Spike was drawing almost invisible lines under his eyes with a concentration that Angelus had seen him devote in only one other activity; fucking Drusilla. Rolling his eyes with a frown, Spike quickly finished his eye before tossing the pencil to his grandsire. Angelus carefully ran the pencil along his under eyelids. "Is it smudged?"

"Nah," Spike said around the cigarette in his mouth. "Big date?"

"Just some passing fluff with the Slayer."

Spike leapt up off the bed and patted Angelus on the shoulder as he exited the room. "Have fun sketching, then. Hope your hand doesn't get tired from gripping your pen."

Angelus rolled his eyes at Spike's remark. No matter how much culture he threw at the boy all he would ever get would be bourgeois middle class attitudes. Tonight was special so much so that he didn't have the time or the desire to punish Spike as he warranted. Willow's parents were coming to town and Buffy was going to have to talk to them. Angelus had to eavesdrop on a thirty minute Buffy crying jag outside of the Bronze, but the information was worth it. How deliciously awkward and horrible would it be for Buffy to explain. Not forgetting what the mysterious Rosenbergs would do or say once they realized that their neglected daughter had been missing and they ignored it. Angelus smirked as he picked up a pencil case and a small notepad. As a child psychologist and writer of how-tos for parenting, Mrs. Rosenberg would have the better grip on the situation and how small the chances would be for Willow to come back alive even if she hadn't been kidnapped by a vampire. She would be the one he would sketch.

The restless, silence of the house was invaded by a melancholy, eerie song that drifted to Angelus's ear. He smiled. Creaking under his foot, the floorboards seemed to vibrate with the music. It was Drusilla. Her voice and eyes were her weapons. He had seen her seduce and then command a mob to rip themselves apart. Soon after that incident, Darla had introduced Drusilla to the Master. For all her occasional harpings, Darla did admit that he could choose and raise good childer. Penn was a financial genius that cultivated the family fortunes even as he lived like a puritan. Mad, beautiful Drusilla, whose gifts never ceased to amaze and tantalize him. Even if Spike wasn't of his direct blood, he was still trained at his knee. The Slayer of Slayers owed his success to the Scourge of Europe. Willow would be a good addition to the collection with her keen intelligence and budding magical ability. The tone of the song turned cruel and he felt Willow's heart beginning to speed as if they were breast to breast. Hmmm, what were his girls up to?

Angelus stalked out of the room and down the hall. Peeking into Willow's room, he put his finger to his lips when Drusilla looked up wide-eyed at him. She looked down before staring up at him through her eyelashes. Snarling playfully, she caressed Willow's shaking hand. Angelus grinned at his princess before turning away. He reminded himself to tell Franz to make sure that Drusilla played nice with his pet.

Penn was walking past him and opening his mouth to say something, but Angelus just patted him on the shoulder and kept moving. He had places to be and weeping women to draw.

***

Penn watched his Sire go. There was no one in the hallway so he let his bitterness and anger show on his face. He had seen Angelus outside his new bitch's room, so he had time for the pet, but not his childe. He was set aside every time. For Drusilla, for Spike, for any random obsession of Angelus's that came along. As he tried to clear his face of his dark emotions, Penn turned around and walked to Spike, who he sensed was in his Sire's room. Try as he could, Penn knew that he had an edge in his eyes that he couldn't brush back. Looking down at Spike who was sprawled on the bed, he thought he could see that edge mirrored in the other man's kohl-lined eyes.

"I'm going out. Want to join me?" Penn asked. His glasses were sliding down his nose before he pushed them up. Spike watched the motion with hooded eyes. He didn't need them, but when he felt as though he was going to head out on a bender, he always wore his specs. Spike nodded and sat up before standing. Passing Penn, he clapped a hand on his shoulder and walked out of the room. Penn followed.

***

"The police don't have any leads..." Mrs. Rosenberg murmured as her hands gripped the warm cup of hot chocolate that Buffy's mother had supplied. "I read the file. They think that someone abducted her but they don't have any real clues."

Buffy hugged herself and leaned back into the couch. Giles and her mother were beside her, watching Mrs. Rosenberg have a mini-meltdown. All Buffy could think of was that it was her fault and tried not to think of that because if self-loathing could defeat Angel, then he'd be beyond dust by now. Self-loathing wasn't going to bring back Willow and it certainly wouldn't stop Willow's mom from looking like she was drowning.

"I can't believe it. She was always so careful even as a little girl. It never even seemed like she was a little girl sometimes. Ira and I worried about that. We thought that she was stuck in the Anal state of development. Not that Freud really... I've written so many books about parenting..." Mrs. Rosenberg looked up from her cup and into Buffy's mother eyes. "You even have one. But I've been a complete putz. I just keep thinking and thinking and thinking and all I can think of is that my daughter never really had a mother. She had crappy therapists for parents. I won awards for my books. I even have a picture of Willow and I together on the back flap of one. How many events have I missed? We've been leaving her alone ever since she was thirteen but, hell, we were hardly there even before that." She looked back down at her cup and nodded to herself, frowning. Buffy thought she looked too much like Willow. "I've been a horrible mother," Mrs. Rosenberg whispered it and raised her hand when Buffy's mother tried to disagree. "I have and it took my daughter being abducted to realize it."

"Mrs. Rosenberg, no doubt that Willow will be found shortly. Your doubts and fears should be put away so you can focus on finding her," Giles said gently, but to Buffy it seemed as if he was talking to her.

"I know all the facts and the statistics about missing children. If we hadn't been so damn wrapped up... If we had come home sooner then we might have been able to do something. You and Joyce have been too kind, but I think the press is right."

"What press?" Buffy asked. She didn't remember seeing anything about Willow on the news but then again she usually was at the library or on patrol when the five and ten o'clock news was on. Looking over at her mother, she asked again.

"It should die down. There's just a lull now that the Simpson trial is over but I'm trying to keep it up. Most of it is bad especially with Ira and I staying in Texas for a week after we found out. I don't even know why we stayed. But it may bring up more clues. I've been working on getting her picture on 'America's Most Wanted' and the 'Today' show. I've been on Today, so I'm hoping they push aside their traveler's tips and winter wear guides for a segment on Willow." Mrs. Rosenberg started to stare off into the window. Her brow furrowed and her frown deepened. "Is that a man outside your window?"

Buffy stood and looked out into the darkened street. She moved the curtains away, peering down the road as far as she could, she saw him. Angel. He held up a paper then he was gone. "No. There isn't anyone there." Buffy said flatly. "Just shadows."

***

Penn was slammed against the alley wall. He blessed the twentieth century and all its cleanliness. The wall was dry and the alley lacked a single hobo. Grinning, he pushed his glasses up. A red smear graced one of the lens but he didn't mind. Spike was stomping towards him with his smirking mouth rosy with blood. Grabbing Penn by the front of his shirt, he jerked him forward. When their mouths hit, it was like a tornado jagged with fangs and slippery with gore. His tongue swept the back of Spike's teeth before he broke off the contact to pull off the leather jacket. Nipping teeth, insistent hands, and chilled panting breath seemed to be his world as Spike's ardour got the best of him. Penn loved the lack of control, the unpredictability, the hurricane that was Spike. A guy knew where he stood with Spike. The younger vampire had laid out a plan to him, a great plan. He would get what he had always wanted. His zipper was being tugged down and at the hitch in his voice, he got a cocky smirk in return. Those fair features morphed into the dark looks of Angelus in his fantasies.

Angelus. Kneeling. Penn could have came right there but he held himself in check. If he fucked up this time then Angelus would never do this again. He tasted blood when he bit the inside of his cheek as the sight of his Sire, darkhandsomegod Sire, on his knees with Penn's cock at his lips. A large hand gripped the base of his cock and that tongue teased of the tip as if he was worshiping. The dark eyes, glinting and cunning, looked up at him with something like devotion. Penn moaned loudly. He knew that his Sire would never leave him again. There would be no more pretty boys or girls to distract him. When that mouth, so often speaking of the latest obsession, took him fully in, Penn scratched at his cheek to stop himself from shooting off. The blood dripped onto the ground next to his Sire's knee, but Penn could hardly be bothered by it. The pain only added to the sensation of Angelus' tongue on the underside of his cock. He stared into deep brown eyes and saw all the times when him and Angelus had been together.

Bending him over and murmuring in his ear, Angelus' voice enough for Penn to forget all the hurts and humiliations that he suffered. His arms trembled as he held himself up on the desk while Angelus was stretching him out. Pushing back on those long, artist fingers, Penn only wanted his Sire inside him. Around him. Covering him completely. If there was a way that he could have wormed into Angelus, he would have. He was panting and moaning, pushing back as his sire was pushing in. Angelus. Angelus. AngelusAngelusAngelusAngelus. Hard, cold, and pressing against him, slamming in and groaning, Penn was choking back sobs. It was like God reached down and touched him. Only this wasn't the God of his youth. This was a God of the flesh and the blood. This was a God that didn't just reach for him, he grabbed him and gave him the night. This was a God that had him screaming as he came.

That was then and this was now. That God was staring up at him as he sucked him off. Penn came. AngelusAngelusAngelusAngelus. Only Angelus was Spike. Did he say Angelus out loud? If he had, Spike gave no indication.

Penn tucked himself back in before pulling Spike closer. Whispering against the pale throat before him, he said, "When can we start that plan?"

***

Willow tensed as she saw Drusilla lift her head. The vampiress had gone into some sort of catatonic state that lasted hours. Willow didn't try to move because when she tried the first time Drusilla had broken out of her daze long enough to backhand her. The redhead needed to pee and everything below her belly button seemed asleep. Opening one eye and then the other, the undead brunette stared at the human.

"The tradewinds are confused and all my boats are stuck in the harbor."

Chapter Twelve: Raising Hope, Falling Skies

It was a beige, cozy couch that he was sitting on. Lawson had been relieved when he found the living room for the upstairs. It had all the trademarks of Angelus's bordello of blood but without the feeling that one would come across a few drunken working girls. Sure, Penn and Spike would hang out in there as well but only Spike was ever that drunk. It was morning and he knew he should was resting instead Lawson was feeling antsy. There was more tension in the air. Listening to Spike drunkenly curse, he knew where the ill will was coming from. He had the 'Today' show on. Lawson had always found Ann Curry pretty hot. Then there was the odd sexiness about Katie. Not that he told anyone that he found Katie Couric hot. Leaning back into the couch, he prepared himself to doze off while Al danced around with some of the Rockettes. His eyes were half shut when a familiar face popped onto the screen. Red hair, big green eyes, mousy looks - It was Angelus' pet. He straightened and turned the captions on while muting the sound. Her mother was talking with Katie about the disappearance. Shit. Angelus had to pick a pet whose family had enough celebrity to get a segment on the first hour of the Today show. Turning the channel and restoring the default setting of the television, Lawson frowned. How could he use this information?

Spike's slurred words were getting louder. And a small, terrified voice was answering back. Lawson closed his eyes and shook his head. It was too late for this shit.

Getting up and jogging down the hallway, Lawson was stunned when he saw Spike and the human pet. Spike had the girl's arm in bruising grip and his other hand over her mouth while he mumbled incoherently in British slang. He didn't know if the blonde had a death wish, but there was no doubt that there was a good chance that that wish might be granted. Touching another vampire's pet without permission was an insult and a challenge. Spike hadn't even noticed that Lawson was there. He looked over into the pet's room. The bed linens were scattered as if the other vampire had dragged her from the bed. Quickly looking down at the girl's feet, he noticed bruises blooming on her ankles. There was no way that Spike could spin this as if she was trying to escape. Inside, Lawson smirked. He knew how to use his Today show information.

"Spike, stop," Lawson said in his best Superman impression. "Leave the pet alone."

Spike snarled something British and garbled.

"Hand her to me. Angelus will take your hide for this. Don't make it worse for yourself."

Spike turned, letting go of the human, and lunged for him.

"Run." Lawson said to the girl before grabbing the drunk vampire by the shoulders as he was knocked to the ground. A fast fist was thrown at his face, but he jerked his head to the side letting it graze his head before slamming his forehead into Spike's. He felt Angelus. Even while smelling like he fell into a brewery, fear crept into the blonde's eyes. Lawson let lose a hard left hook into Spike's kidney that hit only leather.

"You stupid fuck," Angelus said low and dark. Spike was yanked up by the back of his neck. Lawson saw the long fingers that gripped it dig in until blood trickled down. He backed away before standing.

"Spikey, what have you done, precious?" Drusilla said. Her voice was sad and quiet. He almost jumped at the sound but he controlled himself to watch Spike's eyes. They were focused on Drusilla with a darkness that he had rarely seen. Looking up at Angelus, he saw that his Sire was fuming and looking down at the captured vampire.

"Franz!" Angelus bellowed. Franz seemed to materialize. "Get the minions out of the basement."

"Sire?" Lawson asked using the meekest voice he could muster. "I saw something on the news about your pet. Her mother was on a morning show."

"Fucker." Angelus shook his head before turning and dragging Spike behind him. "It won't effect us." Lawson watched Spike being dragged away with lowered eyes. He could feel Drusilla's scattered tension so he patted her on the shoulder.

"Come on, let me help you back to your room," Lawson said. "It has been a hard night." Smiling, he held out his hand. He had delivered his information to Angelus ensuring that he was seen as the loyal or at least smart childe and now he had an opportunity to get the good graces of the Childe-Heir. Lawson may have been a good old American boy raised on corn and comics but he knew where to ingrate himself. All the vampires here might be older and from more elegant and educated stock but for most it seemed like they hadn't been in the eternal game of status that obsessed the more upwardly mobile vampire. Without a sire to lead him, Lawson had to learn all this from the school of hard knocks. Right now, he had a chance to become someone high in the new Order of Aurelius though it didn't matter if the Order flopped or flew- Lawson could land on his feet. There wasn't much that impassioned him nowadays, but the rush of survival and politics. Sometimes he thought that if he ever reached the top that he would probably off himself. Maybe it was better that he wasn't in Canada, he was swiftly reaching the top of the heap in Toronto. A few more years there and there would be no doubt that he would have been king. "A good day's rest will do us all some good."

Drusilla let him lead her away and as he briefly looked into her eyes, he thought he saw something there besides glossy blankness.

"Dolphins no longer follow me out to sea. All that follow are gulls and crows." She ducked her head with a side as she spun around before she continued walking her graceful slow gait. "Will you help me see if my dolphins are caught in the nets?" Drusilla asked staring up at him through her eyelashes.

Lawson tried to pick apart her meaning for he was sure that her insanity was two parts crazy and three parts show. He smiled, realizing the wisdom and message behind her words, and nodded.

"Of course, I could never refuse a lady. Now, tell me a little more about these birds before we retire."

Lawson was lying on his stomach in that hazy, murky land between sleep and awake. His leg was kicking slightly as, in his mind, he chased down plump, ruddy-cheeked maidens. Itching to drop, his fangs descended when he finally had the girl in his grasp but he felt another vampire. Hissing, he lunged up and reached for the one who was disturbing his rest and hunt. It was Franz. He blinked and dropped his arms.

"Sorry," He murmured thickly and gravelly as his body and mind brushed away the fog of sleep. "What are you doing?" Lawson reached up and flattened his unruly, sleep-fluffed hair, feeling the static as the wild waves stuck to his palm. He used the other hand to itch his stomach. "Did something happen?"

"No, everything is quite well. I beg forgiveness for entreating into your chambers without permission, but I wanted to thank you for your actions on behalf of Angelus' pet," Franz said. His eyes were pale and seemed as devoid of expression as Drusilla's. Something was off.

"Did Angelus send you here to thank me?" Lawson asked. Franz nodded and smiled in way that could have meant anything. "Well, that is nice. You are his right-hand guy, yeah?" He continued without waiting for the other vampire to answer. "Could you see if I could met the human pet? I can tell that Angelus has some designs for her and if I'm going to be getting a baby sister, I want to be able to met her."

"I could, perhaps, bring that to his attention. To integrate the pet into the family, if you will."

"Is he doing anything today? I'd like to speak with him."

"I do not always know of his plans," Franz said with a slight, apologetic bow.

"Come on, I bet you know every working detail of this place," Lawson said. He worried that he might have laid that on too thick. There was no doubt that it was true but he didn't want the man to think that he was buttering him up. He needed the goodwill of Franz to get a good standing in the house. "I don't want to catch him while he is busy."

"I do believe that he will go out to hunt later but there are no plans in addition to that."

"Thank you, Franz. Now, I got to get dressed..."

"Of course. Good day," Franz said as he bowed before walking out the door, closing it behind him.

***

Angelus grabbed his coat before he threw it on as he walked out of his room. His body was howling for the bloody release that only the hunt could bring.

Willow had been confusing when he had tried to assess what Spike's attack had done on his progress. Spike... He gritted his teeth when he thought the name. His special boy was chained in the basement where he would stay until Angelus burned through enough rage to not kill the idiot when he saw him again. This was a time when finesse was needed most. So, many transitions and changes in his family. He needed to be calm. Besides he had to see the mayor about what sort of police trouble he could expect. The old man owed him.

Franz and Sammy were out in the hallway. Franz bowed to him, his light colored suit was close to the tone of the hallway and he seemed to blend into the background.

"Sire." Sam Lawson smiled and bowed his head.

He was dressed like a frat boy in baggy jeans and blue collared shirt. He was good looking enough to be handsome, but he wasn't extraordinary like Spike. His clothes were California casual, so he didn't stick out like Angelus himself did. Lawson also seemed to blend in like Franz. Sometimes Angelus didn't know if Lawson was too smart or too apple pie. As Angelus stared at his long lost childe, he decided that Lawson might actually have more in his head than anyone would guess at first. He still didn't know how to feel about that.

"Franz, you can go check up on Willow. Mind Drusilla. I need to talk to my childe." Angelus strode over to Lawson and threw an arm over his shoulders. Angelus looked him up and down. He sucked at his front teeth for a second. There was something about Lawson, something different from him than his other childer, something that he didn't know if he liked. Spike, Penn, and Drusilla were all drawn to him in almost every possible way. Sammy Lawson was drawn to him. He would have ignored the summons if he hadn't. The key issue was that Lawson wasn't his creature. He was loyal enough to stop Spike and tell him about the morning show, though, that was probably just self-preservation. "I'm on my way to go hunting. How about you come with me and we make up for some lost time, son."

"Well, I am dressed for the occasion." Lawson grinned and his eyes were warm. "I'd love to see the infamous Scourge of Europe in action."

Angelus laughed. "Then you shall. I'm curious about you. I've heard about your youthful travels through the grapevine for years." He looked at the shorter dark haired man. For sixty years, Lawson had been alone and surviving without a sire. Angelus knew that meant that the kid was lucky or smart. He needed to know how smart.

The two began to walk down the hallway. Angelus smiled at Penn as he passed his door open door. Penn was reading, but he put down his book to look at his sire.

"I admit that I am pretty swell," Lawson said.

Angelus looked back to his other childe.

"But, I want to know more about what kind of family I missed out on." The former GI nodded and looked away. "I've heard about the whirlwind of Darla and her brood, but I want to know what really happened." Lawson stared up at Angelus, his lips thin, and his eyes serious.

The master vampire narrowed his eyes as he thought. He started down the stairs. He could imagine the other man hearing with resentment and awe about the vampire who abandoned him. Lawson wasn't stupid. It would be irritating to Angelus' plans to make a real enemy out of him. He opened his mouth.

"Angelus!" Penn called out from the hallway.

Inwardly sighing, Angelus turned. "Penn, I'm going out. Speak to me when I come back."

The blond man nodded and pushed his glasses up, frowning. He closed the door. The mutilated David glared at Angelus from his engraving on the door.

"Well, do you know who brought me into unlife?" Angelus asked, resuming his walk down the stairs.

"Darla, childe of the Master of the Order of Aurelius." Lawson smiled and nodded. "How did you catch her eye?"

"Like all great stories, it begins in a tavern..."

***

"I'm just not sure of this Angelus." Richard Wilkins said as he folded his hands. He smiled like a horse, looking completely calm sitting behind his desk. "This might actually take some doing here. Katie Couric and her cheerful gang really are morning powerhouses. The demon they sold their souls to is quite the intimidating Bridge player."

"Dick. Come on, buddy." Angelus folded his arms. It was galling to stand like a peasant in front of the uppity sorcerer. This is why he needed his own place. Centuries of dealing with petty territory rulers was really beginning to grate on him. Before the soul, it only took a stern glare and a quick assurance of peace to quell rival clans. The Scourge of Europe was given a wide berth by all. Now, look at him, humbled before a suburban wizard. It would take decades to undo the damage the soul had done to his reputation. Angelus clenched his jaw before continuing. "Aren't I helping keep the Slayer and therefore the Watchers too distracted to focus on you or your schemes."

Richard nodded with a shrug. "I suppose you are doing more than your share of community service which not so many young people are doing today, mind. Good for you. It builds character." He gestured to Lawson. "And, who is this young man?"

Angelus's lip curved into a smile as he patted Lawson on the back. "This is my boy, Sam Lawson. Coming to visit from Canada."

The mayor smiled wide and big with a single guffaw. "Nothing like family in town. Such an impressive man, I hear too." His smile faltered almost too quick for Angelus to catch, but it was too dark to miss. Anger blazed from Richard's eyes and once it was gone, Angelus knew that the mayor was going to be on his ass from now on. "I guess that since you are having such a happy reunion that I shouldn't spoil it. I'll get my men on keeping the search muddled. If you have any thoughts, requests, or suggestions then, by all means, let me know. If I'm anything, besides a great bowler, I'm a servant of the people."

***

Willow rubbed her ankles as she sat in bed. They hurt, though she couldn't help but smile as she looked out the window. She might just be a stolen girl trapped in an aquarium room in a crazy house of vampires, but she wouldn't always be in here. Hope welled up in her heart and even though she had been scared and hurt and confused at first because she had been following all the rules and still been hurt, she knew now that people were looking for her. Her parents did care about her!

She leaned her chin on her knees and smiled dreamily, relishing in the magnificence of hope.

No one noticed her back in the hallway after that brown-haired vampire told her to run, but she noticed them. She heard her rescuer say that her mother had been on a morning show looking for her.

She was crying into her pillow again, but this time she was happy. That secret fear was gone. That fear that no one cared even if she was missing. People were looking for her and they did care.

There was more than Angelus and this house in the world. Willow was frightened of how close she was to forgetting that. She felt so much better even as she sobbed. Her reality was shrinking and Angelus kept growing in her mind. It would be tough, but Willow knew that she could get out of here. Whether or not, anyone could find her. She was going to find them.

Chapter Thirteen: Bad Influences

"Wakey wakey, Penn." An angelic voice said near his ear. "Places to destroy. People to kill."

Penn smiled and opened his eyes. "Hmmm, sun's still up?"

"Yeah, and its covered by a bunch of clouds." Angelus stared down at him. His jaw was tight and his shoulders were tense. "Want to kill something with me or do I get Dru?"

Penn nodded and got out of bed. Stretching his arm up, he yawned. "Let's go. I got in late last night with Spike and one bottle turned into ten and then I lost count." He smirked as they moved towards the door. "I'm dressed if a little wrinkled."

His sire nodded, staring ahead, murder in his eyes. Angelus threw open the hallway door and it hit the wall with a clang. Minions playing cards or sparring stilled to watch them.

Angelus stopped at the base of the stairs and jabbed a finger at a minion at a card table. "Where's Franz?"

"Upstairs." The minion, a modern day Eric the Red in biker gear, trembled and his cards shook in his hands. He kept shifting his eyes towards the door leading to Angelus' basement studio.

"Good." His sire stalked to the front door and jerked it open. "Anyone who goes outside to play joins the rest of the dust under the rug," he said over his shoulder.

Penn followed, dodging the swinging door. Thick clouds, high and puffy, shielded them, but Penn's skin still tingled and itched. He looked back at the mansion as he walked down the quiet street. The minions acted much more terrified than usual. The biker wasn't the only minion who was looking at the studio door. Spike was behind it, bleeding, and Penn had no idea why. Last thing he remembered was snacking on a early morning jogger before passing out, Penn rubbed his temple, headache forming, as he thought that it was much too early for all of this. "So, who's on the menu?"

"I just want to shred someone." Angelus said before he stopped. "Looks like I found the lucky folks."

A smiling couple were moving a trunk into an gray van. Penn could hear them joking about finally getting the hell out of dodge. The van puttered in park.

"Today you're wheel man. I'll throw them in the back and you can have the woman." Angelus smirked looking over. "Always been partial to pretty blond men."

…

Franz was holding her ankle in a firm yet gentle grip as he peered at the mottled purple bruises.

When Spike had tugged her off the bed, she hadn't had time to yell before she had hit the ground. There was only sickening dread that blossomed into realized fear. She covered her face with her arms in time for them to bounce against the wood of the backboard instead of her nose. The fear still made her shake. It wasn't Spike or possible death that had scared her to the bone. It had been nothing but petty retaliation. Tit for tat. Franz's icy hands made a chill run through her. They were as cold as Spike's.

Spike had jerked her up off the floor.

Willow hadn't yet come to terms to being awake and her legs had buckled.

He snarled and pulled her to him. "I'm 'pose to be her fucking Knight. Armor and all." His fingers were like chilled talons digging into her arms. "I'm not gonna put up with this shit from that ignorant sodding git."

"I'm not trying to do anything."

"No, girlie, you don't get to talk." He said before slapping a hand over her mouth. "Changed he has." Spike growled; his face getting bumpy. "'Gelus is mucking everything up. Now, I'm gunna return the favor."

Willow closed her eyes when remembering how insignificant she felt then. She had done nothing to Spike, but that didn't matter.

People may look for her, but how would that help if she got killed before they could find her. Willow turned her head away from Franz as hot tears blurred her vision. She had never been so mood swing-y before, but she had felt the whole emotion spectrum today. She looked up, tears running hot down the side of her face, and she realized that Angelus had been right about there being no rules. There was so much going on in this house that she could never get a handle on it. She didn't even know who her rescuer was. This wasn't like playing Risk with her Dad. The South American stronghold wouldn't work. There wasn't any way to strategize when she had no power. There wasn't any way to strategize when there was no way to know who did. Chaos-y badness surrounded her.

"Cry, if you need too, Miss Rosenberg. Its not my place or inclination to punish you for it." Franz's voice was soft as his fingers pressing lightly on her ankle.

"There's no point." Willow said.

"I hope you won't think me too bold, but I consider you one of my friends, Miss." Franz set down her foot. "Your arm, please?"

"You know you're my buddy." Willow smiled even though it was probably a big fat lie. She had no idea what was behind Franz's polite mask. She had no idea about a lot of things and Spike had taught her that. She knew she was alone in this house even as she lifted up a bruised arm.

"I am truly sorry again that I wasn't there." Franz frowned. "I have been appointed to guard your door even more strictly and I assure you that nothing of this nature shall happen again."

"How long have Spike and Angelus been fighting over Drusilla?" Willow asked. Curiosity might kill the cat she thought, but did it matter in a vampire nest?

"Since 1880." Franz let go of her arm

She nodded wrapping her arms around herself. "Who saved me?"

"Sam Lawson. I don't know much about him. He was turned during the 1940s, but that was when Angelus was..." He paused as if searching for the right word. "When he was ill. I was not there."

Willow nodded; she had been right. It had only been another episode of meaningless in-fighting in a decades long saga. She snorted bitterly as she imagined future Spike, Angelus, and Drusilla in a flying car laughing about the time they fought about old whose-her-face and then made up over a massacre of orphans.

"He was very grrr." Willow sighed. "I didn't like that at all." She looked into Franz's eyes. "He doesn't always try to get back at Angelus like that? Does he?"

"No, this is one of his more extreme infractions."

"Is Angelus here? Never mind." Willow shook her head. "I feel like I'm in a dark cage and I never know who is going to jump out at me." Tension seemed coiled around this place and it kept drawing tighter and tighter until it was a noose around her neck. She was nothing to them all. Just something that could be used against each other.

"He's not here."

"Maybe I need to sleep." Willow closed her eyes. The 'Random Rampage' strategy meant nothing. Angelus treated her like a toy. She had read the Watcher's Diaries and knew that he grew bored of his 'pets' easily. Heck, she didn't even know if he was in control here. In spite of it all, she felt lucky that he was so wrapped up in his vampire family or else she would have gotten his full attention which just the thought of terrified her. She was getting off lightly for the moment, but any day that could change.

"It had been a trying day." Franz nodded. "You have my word that neither Penn or Lawson will harm you."

"I know you will do your best." Willow said rolling over on her side before she looked over at him quickly. "Who is Penn?"

The vampire had a blank expression when he answered. "Angelus's first childe. He is also visiting the mansion."

Yay, Willow thought as she listened to Franz walk out and close the door. More unknown variables.

Finally something she had expected happened. Rain started to tap against the window. It had been overcast and thunder-y all day. She got out of bed to look at the rainy world beyond the bars. Pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she breathed deep trying to relax. Below was an abandoned Victorian house with old sycamores in the large backyard. There was something familiar and yellow in one of the trees. She looked closer. Was that a Sunnydale gym shirt? It was someone with binoculars; Someone she knew. She waved, biting her lip to keep from yelling out.

It was Xander.

...

His panting was the only sound in the room. His chest and back burned. Spike's arms had become numb hours ago. He hadn't been hung up this long in a hundred years. The basement room was pitch black even to a vampire's eyes. He was in Angelus' playroom. Sobriety was a bitch, he thought, his mistake clearer after hours in the dark. Roughing up the Old Man's pet was just the perfect bloody ending to his week long bender. Spike reckoned that this was the time to say goodbye to his back skin. Angelus was a bleeding artiste who had to stretch the limits of pain. He deserved his lumps though, that business with the pet was a right cock up.

The door opened; light stole into the room.

"Spike, my darling boy, I feel you in the dark and I've come to light your way." Drusilla was a vision in white, holding a candle, as she walked through the doorway.

"We're finally leaving this pit?"

Drusilla walked closer before putting a finger onto his lips.

He kissed the soft pad of her finger.

"Everything is wrong here. Miss Edith has been weeping for days." She said in a small girlish voice as she leaned closer to Spike raising the candle above her head. A hairs-breath away, her dark locks brushed against his chest, and she leaned back after caressing his cheek. She lowered the candle before wiggling her slender fingers over the flame.

"You noticed it too?" Spike moved onto his tip-toes to ease the pain in his shoulders.

"Tangled in nets, I shan't see a single albatross. All I know is the rocking of the waves," Drusilla said, tears ran down her cheeks catching the flickering light of the candle.

"No tears, love." Spike tensed as he felt Angelus, powerful and familial, moving nearby.

"A storm is near." Drusilla kissed him between his eyes. She let out a small cry when the door flew open hitting the wall.

"Dru, I think its time for you to go." Angelus growled from the doorway.

Drusilla cupped his cheek and kissed Spike. A drop of her rich and powerful blood fell on his cracked lips. "Be brave," she whispered before turning back to her sire.

"Now." Angelus's voice boomed in the empty room.

Drusilla looked back at Spike and ran out.

Angelus slammed the door closed and the darkness was absolute. Silence dragged on for minutes.

Spike closed his eyes, waiting for the first blow, even as he knew that Angelus was going to make a grand spectacle of discipline. So many fangs in the place meant he couldn't let it go. The minions had to smell the blood, hear the screams, and be afraid.

"Now, I get the feeling you're angry at me." In the silent room, his voice boomed. "I wonder why." Spike couldn't see Angelus, but he could tell his voice was moving forward. "I've healed you; Vino de Sang straight from the source; none better around."

A light bulb turned blindingly on. Angelus dropped the chain to the naked bulb and walk over to a table in the corner. A table that shined in the light.

"This isn't your style. Attacking a pet is Penn's deal." Angelus picked up a scalpel. "You two have been braiding each other's hair since he got here." The dark haired man walked closer holding the scalpel with both hands. "I was hoping he'd be a better influence."

"Whot'cher want? Me to carve a cross--"

"No," Angelus interrupted. "That act has been stale since Napoleon invaded Egypt." He sighed tossing the scalpel from one hand to the other. "I had thought that Penn and you were working together, behind my back, scheming sweet schemes. Now, I know I just gave the both of you too much credit."

Spike bit his tongue to keep any expression off his face.

"It was cute, really, when Penn and I drained some yuppies today. He marked them with a cross and looked to me for approval. I told him about what a bad boy you were and what a good boy he was."

"Squirmed like a puppy, didn't he? Leave a dead bird on your slippers?" Spike snarled. "Berk."

"Close." Angelus smiled. "Penn deludes himself into thinking he is an artist when he has been in a two centuries long rut. Predictable to the last. But, he's stopped trying to touch my toys." His smile grew as he raised the scalpel.

...

"Giles, I saw her!" Xander yelled as he sprinted into the library. Sweat poured down his face and he bent over, panting. He had a stitch the size of Vermont in his side. It didn't matter because Willow was alive.

Ms. Calender sat at the computer and Giles stood behind her with a hand on her shoulder. She looked up from her typing before cracking her neck.

"What?" Giles asked as he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before putting them back on. Stubble darkened his jaw.

"I saw Willow." Xander straightened. He couldn't help but smile. This was the best news they had in weeks. He had saw his best friend again. "She waved to me."

"Waved?" Jenny asked and she glanced at Giles.

"Through a window at Chateaus de Blood Breath. I don't think Angel has turned her." He shook his head. "Why is no one making with the woo and the hoo?"

"How close were you to the mansion?" Giles asked, quietly.

"Close enough."

"Close enough for them to smell you? Did you even--" The Watcher tightened his jaw and he walked over to the filing cabinet and opened a drawer. "Did you listen to a word I said before? Your reconnaissance is dangerous."

Xander threw up his arms. They had done all the research they could a few days after Willow disappeared. Somebody had to figure out what was going on in there. "What else could I do?"

"I don't know." Giles closed his eyes and he took an audible deep breath.

"The translation is done." Jenny pointed to the computer screen. "There's no time to lose."

"We've been out of 'time to lose' for a while now. Twenty-four days to be exact." Xander muttered. He was getting sick of doing nothing. Giles and Jenny had something they were working on, but they hadn't told him about it despite making him promise not to tell Buffy that he was even talking to the computer teacher.

"Damn it. We've all been working bloody long hours on this. You're not the only one who cares for-" Giles pull out a manila folder before slamming the drawer close.

Xander interrupted. "Long hours working out a way to save Willow and keep precious Dead Boy safe. That's what we've done."

"Stop arguing, children. " Jenny said, standing up. "Where can we go to do the spell? It obvious that Angelus can get into our homes and he's been to the school. We can't be interrupted." She shot a look at Xander. "He's a sly guy."

"What spell? It wouldn't be a mega vamp killing spell, would it?" Xander asked. "Because that is something I can get behind."

Jenny shook her head. "No, its my people's original curse."

"Yeah, because that worked great the first time." Xander sneered.

"Xander." Giles said, his eyes hard with warning.

"No, Giles, someone needs to talk to him." Jenny nodded and folded her arms. "There are at least four master vampires with countless minions living in that nest. We only have one slayer. Count 'em." She raised a index finger. "One. If we cure Angel then we take out the leader and gain a experienced fighter. I don't care if you stake him after we get Willow, but right now, either you're helping or you go home."

Xander lowered his head, feeling the shame hung heavy in his gut and knew she right. "What can I do?"

Chapter Fourteen: Sullen Wind

"You will do as I say, how I say it, when I say it, tulip," Drusilla didn't look insane as she stared coldly down at Franz.

Willow had crept to the window, her back pressed against the cold glass, while Franz had tried to stop Dru from coming in.

Penn had come in soon after, drawn by the fighting. "Franz, when did you gain influence on anyone above the minions?" His malevolent gaze didn't linger on the Dutchmen instead he focused on Willow. Her blood ran cold as their eyes locked.

She had thought that Spike had been frightening, but she knew that she was lucky that it wasn't Penn who attacked her as she didn't doubt that he would enjoy the chance. There was something in his eyes that made her know that he saw her in a way that Spike hadn't. She wasn't a means to an end to him; she was a rival. There was blind hatred in his eyes and she couldn't understand because she didn't even know the vampire. Turning her head, she stare at the rain outside empathizing with the drops falling from their home in the dark clouds. She knew what it felt like to be dropped into a situation she had no control over and little knowledge of without warning.

"When Angelus gave me expressed instructions to secure the room and isolate Ms. Rosenberg," Franz replied in a frosty tone as he blocked Penn from her view. "I can not defy his orders."

"As Princess, I must inspect my ladies in waiting. Bumblebees, fat and buzzing, led me to her and whispered how dear she will be to Daddy and I. Our little vicious darling." Drusilla cooed and smiled fondly while her eyes were far away. "Wilted violets and dead birds wash up on the beach." She snapped her fingers. "Stars burst into poisoned apples."

"I'm sure that Angelus shall grant permission for an audience, but I have no authority to do so."

"Audience?" Penn sputtered, striding pass Franz, to look and point at Willow. "Mortal." He pointed at himself. "First-made Childer. I don't need an audience to make small talk with a school girl."

"Angelus' rule is law," Franz reminded him as he backed up.

Penn opened his mouth before shaking his head and sneering. "Fine." He turned and walked back to the door before glancing at Willow with a look that was more like a threat and a promise.

\---

"Bastard!" Buffy shouted. She flipped off a tombstone, using her hands to push her off, and slammed her feet into his chest.

Angelus cursed himself as he fell backwards on to a low gravestone that jabbed him in the back. He didn't even hear the bitch creep up on him. Who told her that vampires can come outside earlier on cloudy days? Oh, right, him and his damn soul. He shouldn't have dismissed Penn, he thought before snarling, "This isn't the night, Slayer."

"Oh, is it lonely at the top of the demon heap?" Buffy pulled out a stake and got into fighting position. "Color me not giving a damn."

"Fine." Angelus jumped up. "Punching you in the face always perks me up."

"House of crazy vampires falling down?" Buffy asked sweetly before back handing Angel with her fist.

Angelus laughed. "What if I'm the craziest one there?" He grabbed Buffy by the shoulders and shook her.

"Well, if the shoe fits." Buffy head butted him.

"Are you jealous that I moved on to another girl? Willow might not be much at the moment, but she'll make a vicious vampire. Someone my equal." Angelus lied about the last part because while Willow had potential, he hadn't had an equal since Darla.

"Wrong." Buffy shook her head in disgust. "You're not my boyfriend, you're just the demon whose wearing his face." She circled around to the left with her stake ready.

"Oh, come on, Buffy, don't be coy. I know it must eat away at you that when I get done fucking with your head, I go home and nibble on your best friend." He quickly lunged at her before stepping back with a chuckle.

"Wow, aren't you just an insightful guy now?" Buffy snapped. "Duh, I'm worried about my kidnapped friend." She roundkicked him in the chest, sending him flying back. Her eyes were cold and her jaw clenched as she backed up to an empty grassy patch in the graveyard.

"Yeah, I'm sure thats all that it is." Angelus chuckled as he picked himself up off the ground. He fought the urge to pull back his mortal disguise because he knew that it hurt Buffy more if she saw the face of her beloved. He had never seen her so furiously solemn as she did today in her dark grey turtleneck and black jeans without a single trace of repressed anguished love in her expression. "I know deep down you're wondering why I went after Willow instead of you and asking yourself why." He said softly, stalking towards her.

She raised her chin and smirked darkly. "I already know why, Angelus. Willow's smart and cute so no mystery in seeing why out of my friends you chose her to kidnap."

"Oh, Buff, I hate to break it to you, but its not about you." He sneered, but her comment stopped his advance.

"Then why don't you leave Sunnydale?" Buffy asked. "If its so not about me..." She smiled grimly and circled warily around him. "Then why not take Willow and pack up the whole vamp family off to Miami or L.A.? Why the sick fascination with me and mine?" She shook her head.

"Still as self-absorbed as ever." Angelus hid it, but he was rattled. This wasn't how their chats were supposed to go. Buffy was the one who was supposed to be set off balance.

"I'm seeing clearly now and you're right, its not all about me." She pointed her stake at him. "You have a death wish. I bet you dream about it sometimes. " She raised her stake. "All those years with the soul, living off rats, crawling through gutters and saving humans must have loosened a few screws. I've read the history books and you never used to have a thing for Slayers. That was Spike. But here you remain, right in harms way and pissing me off to the point where I don't see any of the man I loved."

He charged at her, but she used his momentum against him and slammed her elbow into his face before hopping back. Blood trickled down from his nose. The clouds were clearing up and the sun burned him as smoke rose off of his arms. He needed to find shelter fast and he sprinted to the Alpert mausoleum.

"I'll be seeing you, Angel." Buffy chuckled coldly.

The sound echoed after him as he fled the light. Her words hit too close to the disgust he felt about what he thought of as his lost century. He had been trying to compensate for it by increasing his brutality, territory, and nest, but he hadn't fooled Buffy. Angelus wondered who else had seen through his act.

\---

Spike hung limply in his chains, weak from blood loss and torture, staring into the darkness. A knock on the door awoke him out of his pained reverie before it opened and light spilled into the room causing him to close his eyes in reflex.

It was Penn who strode into the room with a scowl on his face. The dim light reflected off his glasses. "That wasn't part of the plan, Spike. The Humbling is for tonight and I will try to convince Angelus to make the show more private, but you'll have to submit. Trust me, submit quickly."

"No shit." Spike murmured hoarsely, a jolt of fear hit him at the thought of enduring a Humbling. He had been told stories about Penn's humbling in 1861 and it would have given him nightmares if he had been human. "I'm already choreographing the blow job in my head." The urge the pass out rolled over him, but he resisted the allure. Penn, sorry sod that he was, was his main ally and fount of information. Spike didn't want to blindly crawl to the humbling. "I figured you'd be happy, what with being the golden boy again."

"Yeah, I'm the golden boy." Penn grimaced. "More like the cash cow to be used and put aside until his wallet is empty. At least with Drusilla, you're a close second in her heart. I'm lucky if I make it into the top five."

"Mate," Spike began, trying to collect his thoughts. Penn was a bitter mirror that reflected his own struggle for his sire's affections. They were both sorry sods, if he was honest with himself. Maybe that was why he always had a soft spot for Penn. "You ever think that you ought to play hard to get? Or get out of your rut and find a new demon?"

Penn smiled sadly. "I could say the same for you, but Drusilla is much..." He trailed off before shaking his head. "You'll have my vote tonight." Turning, he walked out the door and closed it leaving Spike in the darkness.

"Appreciated." Spike stood up on his tiptoes with a groan as pain rushed through his lacerated and abused flesh. Angelus had decreed a Humbling and that was bigger than a couple of rounds of Kick the Spike. He stared around the basement room wondering if this would be his last night on Earth. Spike smirked grimly. He'd been in tougher and tighter spots. The Great Poof wouldn't be the death of him... He hoped.


	2. February 24, 1998 pt. 1,2,3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 15 through 17 of Porphyria's Lover.

Chapter Fifteen: February 24, 1998 part. 1

Lawson heard the humming after he felt the familial presence. It was unsettling how quickly his body had tuned itself to the rest of his estranged clan. He ran a hand through his short dark hair before dressing. It had to be late afternoon, but he couldn't have slept in. There was too much tension in the household with a Humbling on the agenda.

Drusilla tapped on the open door with her fingernails as she leaned against the door frame in a dark purple velvet gown. A deep blush infused her cheeks; she had feed recently. Her other hand rested on her black lace- covered clavicle. Rubbing her hand up from her chest to the side of her face, she pushed away from the door and into his room. "Fog and ill weather clouded my sight. I could see naught by will 'o the wisps in the distance, but I smelled the storm on the horizon." She swayed towards him, holding out her hands, palms up. "We shall be great friends."

He laid his right hand upon hers. Ignoring her coy and inviting jasmine perfume, he allowed her to examine his palm.

A mysterious smile crossed her lips as she said, "oh, yes, we shall be the best of friends."

"I hope for nothing less." Lawson was charmed despite himself and his confusion. He had heard of her mind control powers and other gifts, but didn't feel the intrusion of a mind probe so he let himself stay charmed and amused. He had no doubt that he could make use of Drusilla in the future whether as the Childe-heir or a seer. "You can rely on my friendship."

Drusilla kissed his palm before gliding back into the hallway with an unearthly, sensual grace. Lawson couldn't help but smile. That broad was something, he thought.

He had only just put on his sneakers when another visitor rapped on his door. Looking up, he saw that it was Franz Pieterzoon. He was wearing a pin-striped business suit that seemed more 1958 than 1998. Polite to a fault, he stayed in the hallway and bowed slightly without speaking.

"Well, hello there," he said, waving slightly as he stood. Lawson didn't quite know where to categorize Pieterzoon. The man reminded Lawson too much of himself in that way. He had found out that Pieterzoon was a well connected vampire among the vestiges of the Order of Aurelius. There were other independent master vampires that had broke off from the Order in the past and Pieterzoon had worked for or known nearly all of them. He didn't seem to have a goal beside being handsomely paid for his services. No vampire was that simple.

"Angelus has given his assent, I believe, for a meeting between yourself and Miss Rosenberg." Pieterzoon's brow furrowed before his face returned to its habitual neutral expression. "When I asked him as he was coming back from hunting, he said 'whatever.'"

"Yes, that is what the kids are saying nowadays." Lawson grinned. "I'd like to say a quick hello before the Humbling. I assume that the little lady won't be attending despite her new found status. No last minute restituo during the ritual to keep us on our toes?"

"No, Angelus wants to wait some years before turning her, I believe. He wouldn't use her turning as a punishment for Spike or replace him with her in the family." Franz Pieterzoon was a pure professional without a trace of personal emotions on his face.

"How gentlemanly," Lawson said, drier than he intended. "She's a b.y.t and a real blackout girl when all dolled up, I've heard."

Pieterzoon nodded."I will be standing guard over her during the Humbling." He gestured to down the hall. "If you will."

"Wouldn't be a fit place for a human girl," Lawson commented as he stepped out in the hallway. "Heck, wouldn't be a fit place for a human man." He studied the vampire beside him with a long searching look from the corner of his eye. Pieterzoon seemed to be medium everything: height, hair color, temperament. Even his suit was tailored and well-made, but non-designer. He looked like the kind of man that would frustrate witnesses, police officers, and their artists by his averageness. He was handsome despite his desire to blend into the background however. There had to be an angle as most vampires did their damnest to stand out and intimidate.

"Indeed not." Pieterzoon agreed, bowing, as he stopped in front of the pet's door. He unlocked it then called for the girl.

Lawson would have missed the small, warm smile directed at the human if he hadn't been watching Pieterzoon's face. There had to be something about this girl, Willow. Angelus had told him that he had already gotten the paperwork around to induct her into the Order of Aurelius. Her name had been put on a list of more promising potential recruits for the Order. He wouldn't have bothered to make nice with a temporary pet, used and discarded quickly, but this human had just gotten a lot more permanence. Lawson threw on his broadest and friendliest grin when he entered the room. He always did like to make a good first impression just like his Mama told him.

The girl was sitting, back straight and serious, in a chair by the window. She was wearing a high-necked cream sundress with her hair done up in a bun and green low-heeled shoes on. There was something about her outfit that reminded him of the early sixties. She looked better than her pictures on the Today Show and Lawson could see why Angelus had decided to snatch her up.

She stood up and walked to him with the barest hint of a smile. "Hello, I'm Willow."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." He held out his hand. "My name is Sam Lawson."

She looked at it, hesitant, before giving him a firm handshake. "Thank you for rescuing me from Spike, Mr. Lawson. It was kind of you."

"It was nothing, miss." Lawson smiled humbly, but he knew that it would have been a more kind if he had put this poor girl out of her misery before Angelus found the time to focus his energy on her. Fading bruises and fang scars mottled her neck contrasting with the elegance of her dress. "Excuse me, but I must be going. It was nice meeting you."

"Thank you again." Her sad green eyes belied her words.

"See you downstairs, Franz," Lawson said over his shoulder as he walked out the door and into the hallway. He slowed down to listen as he got closer to the hallway door.

"I shall return. Do not open the door no matter what you hear, Miss Rosenberg. Heed my words," Franz said with warmth in his voice.

"FRANZ!" Angelus yelled, sounding like he was downstairs and angry.

Lawson looked behind him as he opened the door to the antechamber.

She stood in the threshold of the door, pale and scared, as she stole a glance down as a scream tore through the mansion.

Franz pulled out a large key ring from his suit pocket. "I must answer his call." He bowed to the pet.

"Of course, Franz." She frowned and nodded, looking at the Dutchmen as if he was her last lifeline to sanity before letting him close and lock the door.

Lawson went through the door and put aside his questions about the pet's relationship with her bodyguard when more yelps of pain reached his ears. All childer were expected to participate and view the Humbling and it wasn't just for the torment of those being humbled. Vampire rites were nothing but hierarchy affirming bullshit. He had probably tested Angelus' patience by taking his sweet time dressing, but he was planning his entrance to have the least offense to all his clan mates. The less time he was whipping Spike in front of Drusilla, the less likely either of them would be out for vengeance afterward. He braced himself before going through the door and walking down the steps.

The scent of blood and fear was almost overpowering to his keen senses. Lawson balled up his fists, looking at the scene in the antechamber, as he descended. Spike was nailed to the wall by his palms, head drooping, on the opposite side of the room with fifteen scared minions, chained by the leg in a line, in front of him. Blood dripped down his nude body and the wall to puddle around his feet. It was all Lawson could smell and it was making him hungry. By the size of the puddle, he could see that he had arrived in the middle of the punishment, but the beginning of the Humbling ritual. The silver Humbling chains glinted grimly in the dim light as they hung empty from the chandelier.

Angelus stood glowering in the center of the chamber with his arms crossed before he looked over his shoulder at Lawson. His expression was glacial. "I'm glad you made it," he said dryly as he walked to his childe and pushed him next to Penn and Drusilla who stood a few feet behind the minions. "Get the hell over there." He looked up when Franz walked through the upstairs door a second later. "Remove Spike from my wall and put him in the chains. After that, call Willy and make sure that my get doesn't come back, then stay with Willow until I summon you." His next words were in Latin and said with a wolfish grin as he stared at his childer. "Cubo cruor."

Drusilla whimpered quietly, her eyes wide as she stared at Spike as if their were no one between them. Her hands were clasped tightly over her belly.

Penn's teeth ground together as he clenched them and his glasses slid down his nose. His arms were crossed as he stared at Angelus. His poker face was better than usual.

Franz looked at Drusilla with an apologetic glance before he pulled the nails out of Spike's palms. Blood gushed thickly from the wounds and Spike groaned as he fell over into the Dutchman's arms. Franz carried the other vampire half over his shoulder around the line of minions to the chains then locked him in the manacles. Spike slumped over, looking like a broken puppet, with his arms locked in chains that hung down from the chandelier. He was situated face to face with Drusilla with only a few yards between them at most.

"Now that everyone is here..." Angelus stalked behind the minions before circling them once. "Cubo cruor. Vitualamen cruor parvulus." He continued in Latin before striking quickly and grabbing a petite female minion in the middle of the line and draining her. The bite was vicious. "The blood has been reclaimed," He finished in English.

Spike frowned as she turned to dust. Lawson felt a distant pinch as if on a sleeping limb.

"Redempto per nex. Cubo cruor. Vitualamen cruor parvulus. Cruor redemptor. Veneratio prosapia quod cruor. Inhonesto quod persolvo scelero. " Angelus kept up his circling and more Latin as he drained minions at seemingly random. "Hper poena. Quis meus filius partum , ego attero."

Lawson's Latin was rough, but he could make out some of his sire's words. 'Redemption through death. Sacrifice the childe. What my childe created, I destroy... Humility through pain.' He stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the gothic cliches. Boston to Buenos Aires, he had heard similar mumbo-jumbo passed down as sacred rituals. He figured that somewhere along the line, vampire fat cats just threw together phrases that sounded tough and then choreographed some whipping before calling it a ritual. Once he contained his morbid mirth, Lawson noticed that by the sixth minion that Angelus was weeding out the runty ones. Touche, old man, he thought.

Spike's face was tinged gray as the ash piled up on the floor and the dust clogged their nostrils. His pained gaze was on Drusilla who looked as queasy as vampires got. Vampires maintained metaphysical connections to those they make, even with minions, and losing so many at once had to hurt.

Lawson was startled to realize that many of the minions had been hers for years or decades. Angelus was cleaning house in more ways than one. By his calculations, the house would have only five minions left-- all made by Angelus. This was one of his mind games, Lawson thought, the Humbling wasn't only for Spike's benefit and was meant to dick with them all. His game with Drusilla and Spike was obvious, but Lawson couldn't figure out how it was to get Penn. He had heard rumors of a past Humbling in either 1861 or 1877 or both, but he hadn't gotten the details. He was certain that the message, Angelus wanted to sent to him was the absolute knowledge that he could and would do this to a childe more than a century old so he would hesitate to do it to Lawson.

Blood dribbled down Angelus's chin as he dropped his eleventh disintegrating victim. He wiped it off with the back of his hand extravagantly as he smirked. "This is the portion of the ritual reserved for the dramatic reading of your crimes, Spike. I'm not going to do that; you know what you did. You attacked my pet in retaliation against me. Hell, I even know why you did it so we're going to skip the ritualized excuse-making and groveling. You see me as a obstacle to your dark true love with Drusilla." Angelus chuckled. "Do you really think that if I had problems with you mooning over Drusilla that you would have survived to see 1881?" He walked slowly to the chained man and stalked behind him. His gaze was dark and full of meaning as he stared into Drusilla's eyes. "Did you know that the first time she ever stood up to me as a vampire, it was to save you after that mob chased us out of Devon?" Angelus ran his fingertips over Spike's lacerated shoulders. "I know your motives and excuses, boy. Unless you have something to add." He poked the drooping vampire on the cheek. "If you're still conscious that is."

"Still here, mate," Spike murmured hoarsely. "Sums it up."

"Glad you concur." Angelus stood with his back to Lawson, but a smile was evident in his voice. "No, I'm going to tell you how I was going to reward you for your loyalty. Los Angeles was my next goal. I was going to send you and Dru to gather info and set up shop in style while I tied up loose ends here." He leaned closer to Spike's ear. "I was going to allow you to become Drusilla's consort."

"Consort?" Spike snorted, looking up for the first time, his eyes were blazing equal parts defiance and pain. "Sure."

"Its true," Drusilla whispered. "T'was to be a surprise."

"Christmas gift from me to you." Angelus laughed, but it was short lived. "Now you're getting coal in your stocking."

He stepped through the diminished line to towards a folding table and picked up a billy club. He twirled it before tossing it. "Sammy, put down any deserters." He looked over at Penn. "Restrain Dru." Walking back to face Spike, he said. "These are your strongest minions. The oldest too. Its time to fight and show me that you are worth the blood spent creating you." He turned on his heels to address the minions. "Do you want to join your nestmates on the floor? Then fight your maker." Angelus went to his childer in the back before clapping and murmuring something harsh and guttural. He smiled at Lawson. "Magework -- gotta love it.

The chains released Spike who fell to his knees with a thud. Hunched over, he straightened slowly and rose to his feet. Visible tremors ran through his arms. He rolled his shoulders with a wince. His nude body was taut and emaciated with rope-like muscles straining through his extremely pale skin.

"You ready?" Angelus asked curtly as he tossed a stake to his bleeding childe.

"Always." Spike looked up at them through his eyelashes with a grim smirk as he squared his shoulders and caught the stake. He turned to face the minions with his bloody back to them.

Angelus clapped and murmured in the same strange tongue as before. The chains around the three minions' ankles fell to the ground with a clink. They looked at each other with wide eyes before moving into defensive stances. The minions circled him then, with nary a look exchanged, attacked.

Spike met their charge with his own. He pounced on the nearest minion, in game face, with all the viciousness of a starving man. He plunged the stake into its side and used the stake to anchor the to him as he drank noisily before tossing the disintegrating body at a charging Asian minion. The minion got the dust in his eyes, blinding him. Spike staked him fast with a roar. His movements were jerky and stiff as he fought without mercy. There was a rosy tint to his cheeks. Spike grinned, bloody and naked as the day he was born, dark thick vampire blood staining his teeth and dripping from his jaws, with hunger and malice in his eyes as he stared at his minion. There was no trace of humanity in his features. He was total predator and he was up against the wall, fighting for his unlife, and not as close to the his final death as he looked.

"That's my dark knight." Drusilla murmured. "My wicked poet."

Penn clutched the undead seer, his fingers dug into her thin arms, as his eyes darted between Spike and Angel. His mouth was twisted into an ugly sneer.

The vampire patriarch leaned against the stair rail with his arms across his chest. Lawson noticed Angelus' miniscule smile from the corner of his eye.

Lawson recognized the one minion left. They called him Big Red and he was considered the toughest in the gang. He had backed off when he saw the others get staked.

Spike laughed hoarsely. "I killed you once, mate. I can do it again."

"Yeah, but now I ain't stone-drunk in a Louisiana honky-tonk and you've just gotten the tar beatin' out of you by your sire." Big Red stalked around the naked vampire. "The odds are better for me."

Spike laughed, more bone-chilling than mirthful. "That's where you're wrong now, mate." He spun and punched the minion in the stomach before bouncing back with a sneer.

The two exchanged blow after blow. Spike, despite his injuries, was the quicker of the two and kept dodging his minion's fists. They circled each other.

The redhead hit Spike with a mean right hook across the face. Spike's head snapped to the side as he spit up blood.

Spike threw punch that his minion deflected before the blond backhanded him with his left hand.

Big Red stumbled, but he shook it off and crouched low to kick Spike's feet out from under him.

Spike fell backward, grunting when he landed on his lacerated back, dropping the stake.

Big Red circled him before kicking him in the side. "I might finally die tonight, but I'll do it with a big ole grin. I saw you get the whuppin' of a lifetime. He ripped you a new one and then he stole yer woman." He kicked him in the ribs. "The look on your face." He guffawed as he stomped on Spike's chest. "I ought to thank you, Spike, though, its been a helluva of a half-century."

Spike sputtered and coughed as he scuttled back on his hands. His jaw tight and eyes narrow, he sat leaning on his hands as if dazed.

Charging his sire, Big Red snarled.

Spike tossed off all vestiges of weakness and launched himself, feet first, at his minion. They crashed together and Spike landed on Big Red's chest. Grabbing his curly red hair, Spike punched Big Red in the face. Blood squirted from the minion's nose. His fist collided against the minion with a meaty thump. Howling, he didn't stop hitting Big Red until his struggles stopped. Spike stared at his clan mates with his fangs bared before he chomped down on his minion's neck. He stood, picked up the stake, and dropped to his knees. "Still grinning?" He asked as he staked Big Red.

Angelus clapped as he walked over to Spike and put a hand on his shoulder. "This insubordinate son of a bitch fought like an animal, proving that Drusilla wasn't wasting her time all those years ago... but, does he deserve to live and redeem himself?" He looked over his clan without a trace of an expression. "Sammy might not know the rules, but we do it the old Roman way here. Thumbs down means mercy and a thumb pointed at the neck means final death. Dru, your childe dishonored you and got your whole cadre of minions killed. What is your verdict?"

She put her thumb down without hesitation as she blew Spike a kiss. "He was wonderfully brave."

"Sammy?" Angelus asked.

"He's a fighter," Lawson said as he gave Spike the thumbs down. He had put up one hell of a struggle. The Humbling had been vicious even for vampire standards. The ritual was shorter than most at under an hour, but Spike had been paying for his crime since yesterday. Lawson was surprised that Spike had survived. Mostly, though, he was happy it didn't run on forever. He had been to a Humbling in Trier, Germany that had lasted five hours.

Penn let go of Drusilla and strode closer to her kneeling and bleeding childe. He pushed up his glasses. He scanned both Angelus and Spike before gesturing his thumb down and turning around to go to the foot of the stairs. Lawson studied his face as he passed by. Seething rage or resentment shone in his features in his tight jaw and furrowed brow.

"Well done, William." Angelus said, eyes on Penn before he looked down at Spike. "Now, for your punishment." He took his hand off Spike and walked to Drusilla. He caressed her face before smacking it. "Go with Penn. He'll chain you up and you'll stay in your room without a drop of blood for at least a week. I'd suggest you spend that week reflecting upon discipline and our old arrangement."

"Yes, daddy." Drusilla nodded, pouting and wide eyed, before joining Penn.

Angelus spun on his heel to stare at Spike who kept his head lowered. "Spike, you're still going to get some of your reward. You'll go to LA without Dru and you'll stay there without her until I decide that you've been a good boy. You'll go tonight." Angelus checked his black watch. "Sunset is in thirty minutes. Dress and pack. Now."

Spike stood and strode by Drusilla with a single passionate look before walking up the stairs. Penn held on to her arm, preventing her from walking beside Spike, until the other man had opened the door to the hallway.

"Lawson." Angelus crooked his finger. "I have a job for you. Make sure that Spike leaves town. Go to Willy's and round up my minions to escort him out. Make sure he is followed to LA." He walked to the staircase and put his foot on the first step before he looked over his shoulder. "If you get the job done, you don't have to report to me when you return. I'm spending the evening with my pet and I don't want to be disturbed."

A trail of blood followed him up the stairs.

Chapter Sixteen: February 24, 1998 part. 2

Willow leaned her forehead against the door after Franz locked it. She pressed her palms against the cool wood and told herself to ignore the sounds of Spike's pain. He had hurt her, but she never wanted him to be tortured. Spike's punishment wasn't what she was worried the most about. She kept thinking that she should feel more guilty and saddened, but she couldn't help but be grateful that he hadn't killed her and that it wasn't her down there. Her time among vampires had made her realize some ugly truths about herself. She wasn't as compassionate as she had hoped, for instance.

Willow pushed herself away from the door. She sighed before walking to her favorite chair, high backed and plush, right by the window and drawing back the heavy curtain. Touching the glass, she looked in the yard next door where she had seen Xander. He wasn't there, but he had been and he had seen her. That's what counted.

She felt like Rapunzel, trapped in a tower, waiting at a window for rescue. It was a feeling that had settled on her like a boulder on her chest. She was helpless and she hated it. Willow had pondered many times during the seemingly endless days on how she could escape with no idea of the lay of the house, minions on the ground floor, and master vampires next door. Wandering around the room, she had checked it for weaknesses and wracked her brain on some manner of escape that wouldn't result in death. It all seemed useless. She knew that there was nothing she could have done to have prevented being kidnapped, but she wished that she had slayer strength or heck, even super smell, to fight back with. It took her a week to realize that that only way she could get out by herself was by magic. When she figured out her problem, she had laughed hysterically. She should have done more than an anti-witch charm and some unsuccessful pencil floating. Willow had worked so hard on math and science when she should have bought a cauldron and a broomstick.

Willow sat, kicking the green heels off her feet and raising them up on the chair, with her chin on her knees. She gazed out the window thinking about what she would do after she left the mansion. Imagining meeting her friends in the library for pizza and research, she heard the bedroom door open. Willow pulled the curtain back into place, covering the dimming light of the setting sun, before looking over her shoulder with a small smile. "Franz."

"Hello, Miss Rosenberg," He said, flipping on the light switch, "It should be quieter from now on." Franz wore a frown on his face and held a camera in his hands.

"What's happening down there? It sounded like..." Willow shook her head. "Never mind, that was a stupid question."

"No humans were killed. Only minions." Franz walked a few steps closer. "You don't have to worry about Spike. He's been banished."

Willow nodded, relieved to have fewer vampires prowling around. "Good."

"Would you mind if I took your picture?"

"I don't care." Willow turned her face to the camera, chin up, without a trace of a smile.

He snapped the photo before placing the camera on the bed. "'You have been quiet all day." He walked in front of the chair and put a gentle finger under her chin to turn her to face him. "I can almost feel the words bubbling underneath the surface." His cold fingers lingered on her jawline as he smiled.

She tipped her face up to look into his gray eyes. "Oh, Franz, I feel like I'm barely in the world anymore." She leaned into his touch. "I don't even know what day it is!" She stood up, asking, "I've been here for twenty-two days, haven't I?"

"Its February 24th." He nodded. They were face to face with only inches between them.

"What happened today in big wide world?" Willow frowned. "I feel like I'm missing everything."

"I only could catch a snippet of the afternoon news." He said with an small embarrassed smile. "Elton John was knighted by the Queen."

Willow laughed, smiling up at Franz, before she said, "And the world keeps spinning." It was just too ridiculous a contrast to her supernatural soap opera of a life.

He brushed stray strands of hair off her forehead. "It always does. No matter how long you have been on walking upon it."

A thought occurred to her. "You know, you do my hair all the time, but I just realized that I've never even touched yours." She reached up and touched his carefully parted blond hair without mussing it. "Soft."

Franz's eyes briefly closed as she smoothed his hair down and in that instance, all traces of his professionalism was gone. "I wish..." His usual cool was broken and she could see such emotion in his eyes. Willow understood now that under the mild exterior that he was a man of passion. "I wish everything was different." He backed away, shaking his head, letting go of her. He picked up the camera and walked to the door. "You deserve much more than this, Willow. I'm so sorry."

"You're not acting like yourself." She stood up, heart beating fast, as dread flooded her. Questions raced through her mind. Was something worse going to happen to her soon? Willow followed him, knees feeling weak. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Tomorrow, I will leave and I won't be able to protect you as I had before," He said, staring into her eyes. "Its been a pleasure serving you, Willow." Franz held out his hand. "I hope to meet you again under more favorable circumstances."

"I'm going to miss you." She set her hand in his and let him bow, courtly and refined, before kissing her knuckles. "Take care of yourself." She reached up and hugged him. He stiffened before giving into the hug. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear. She had read enough of the Watcher Diaries to know that the last twenty-two days could have been much worse. Willow let go. Tears sprang from her eyes, Willow bit her lip to keep her composure.

Franz smiled sadly. Turning around, he opened the door before leaving the room and locking her in.

Willow closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She hated the uncertainty, the fear, and the mystery that cloaked this house. And, now she was losing her one friend in the place. If only she had a magic wand to change her life back to normal. Walking to the door, she placed her hand on it as she switched off the light. "Good bye."

She returned to her chair; a chill went up her spine; all she had was herself now. She thought she had nothing left to lose, but watching Franz leave made her realize she had so much more to take away. Willow couldn't continue being the good pet. She wasn't playing a board game, there were no dice or directions, and she had only herself now. The time for waiting for Buffy was over.

She had been trying to remember the most useful spells of the little bit of witchcraft she had studied. The only one she could do without any supplies that had much of a use was telekinesis. There was levitating spell she knew, unfortunately, it required perfect peace of mind which Willow was worlds away from. Telekinesis was the opposite in that it only frustration and pain could fuel it. Before she couldn't get it to work, but after Angelus snatched her away, she had more than enough of those emotions stock piled away. She had been practicing as much as she dared for two weeks, but it was only after Spike tried to kill her that she had any success. Under her breath, she recited the strange focusing phase to the telekinesis charm. All her fear and sadness rose up in her as she stared at the closed curtain. Willow, growing silent, kept concentrating on the heavy fabric. A wave of tingling warmth overcame her body and she gasped. The curtain jerked open allowing the rays of the sinking sun in. Smiling, Willow fell back, tired, as she began daydreaming of new modes of escape that could become possible.

000

Penn looked down on Drusilla, cowering by her dolls, with his arms crossed as he struggled to control his temper. All his plans were ruined by her idiot childe and now, she was having a fit. He rolled his eyes -- she was playing the mad seer card like she did whenever she got into trouble. "Get up or I'll will make you get up. You know your crazy fortune teller act doesn't do a damn thing for me." He crouched down in front of her. "I'm not your shining knight or dark prince and I don't give a shit if I hurt your lunatic feelings."

"All is wrong." Drusilla pressed herself against the long and low dresser. On the dresser were rows of ornate Victorian dolls wearing dresses of faded silk and decaying lace. Most were blindfolded, bound with thin braids made from Drusilla's own hair, and had sprigs of herbs tucked into their petticoats except the unbound auburn haired one in a tiny chair that lorded over the rest. "Dead seeds and barren earth. Diana, upon a broomstick, leading her cursed witches."

Penn wished she would grow out of her perpetual goth phase.

Banging her head, she tore her curls loose from the pins holding them. "It came to me in a dream and I forgot... I knew this once!"

"Sure, you did." He grabbed her by her upper arms and threw her against the wall. He could have said the same thing about himself. Hindsight was always 20/20 and he saw now, just like he had learned decades ago, that Spike made a piss poor co-conspirator. He drank when he should be sober, mouthed off when he should have shut the hell up, and fought the wrong battles. Though, he couldn't just blame Spike. There was another who had been in his way for more than a century. He stood up. "Yeah, we've all seen and heard this before, Drusilla. Gloom and doom visions wrapped in nonsense riddles and lullabies that could be the future-- or just a daydream. Get a new shtick."

She hit the wall on her side and fell to the floor, landing on her hands and knees. Looking up at him through wild dark locks, she began to giggle. Drusilla rose like a cobra and held her arms up to the manacles and chains nailed into the wall. "Its dark where you are."

"I wish it was sunny where you are," Penn said, shoving her wrists in and locking the manacles shut. He hoped that she wouldn't struggle with all her strength and escape because he did not want to run around town trying to catch her. The chains didn't look like they would hold if she went berserk.

Her eyes grew wide and the pupils large as she convulsed, rattling the chains. She focused her insane gaze on her dolls.

"Jesus, don't you ever give it a rest?" Penn threw his hands in the air and turned away, walking a few steps towards the door. "Why am I the only one in the world who sees how annoying you are?"

She stilled, contenting herself with a quiet stream of creepy mumbling.

"Thank you." Penn said, puffing out a unnecessary breath in relief. His eyes narrowed as he heard the voices in the hallway.

"--follow him with Lawson and the other half will do a couple of sweeps around the town to make sure he doesn't double back." Angelus said. "What else was there?"

"I already submitted her turning recommendation yesterday with my own letter of approval suggesting elite status in the order." Franz answered in his overly formal tone. "Should I mail the paperwork about your great matter tonight once the job is complete?"

"Yes. I've already made up my mind about Drusilla." Angelus asked, pausing. "Good. What about the house in LA?"

"All of the modifications will be made by Wolfram &amp; Hart contractors so there is no need to worry about awkward questions. Once the remodeling and decorating is done, your move to Los Angeles should be a smooth one. I have also hired the new accountant and Miss Rosenberg's Latin tutor." Franz said. "The financial summaries and receipts are on your desk. My fee has been also forwarded to the Caymans account."

Drusilla's demented muttering rose in volume.

Penn didn't want to believe his ears. He tore his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he clenched his jaw. So, this was the fruit of all those late nights when they snacked on caffeine junkies and discussed investments, art, and so much in between. Angelus had wanted to know of everything he had missed while the Soul was off being a hermit. Sitting in the cafes of Sunnydale, debating the issues of the day, had taken him back to the beginning when he had first met Angelus in 1773. Angelus was even affectionate and had given him such hope. The coffee dates had been a part of his plan to win back Angelus' attentions for awhile, but they stopped soon enough. Of course, he thought bitterly, his sire was only manipulating him to get what he wanted. Ever since he had been at the mansion, he had been building up Angelus' financial profile. It had been hell going through Angelus' mangled finances and fighting with Wolfram &amp; Hart lawyers to get the inheritance from Darla. Then the loan... Penn felt like the world's oldest fool.

"No, no, no, no, no, its starting!" Drusilla wailed. Her pyscho-babble drowned out the two vampires in the hall. "Crickets in the reeds. Mountains in my view."

"Shut up, Dru!" He jammed his glasses back on before balling his fists up.

"We're all trapped in their circle as they whisper secrets. I can't understand what they are saying." She shook her chains again.

"I really wish that Angelus hadn't twisted your mind up so completely that regular punishments don't effect you. You'll fast like a demonic saint for fun. You get whipped and you laugh as if its a tickle. We all know that you love it when Spike and Angelus fight. You three get to act out your dark love triangle where Spike is the noble gutter poet and Angelus is the irresistible demon." He stalked over to her doll collection and picked up a redhead one in green. He tossed it up with one hand, catching it, as he said, "Maybe we should explore alternative methods of punishment. Modern methods. I've read that taking away a child's toys can be quite-." He chucked the doll at the wall, it hit by Drusilla's hip and shattered. "Effective."

She wailed again. "Don't set my dears free. It took me ever so long to harvest them all."

"Keep her quiet, Penn!" Angelus roared from the hallway.

Penn walked out of the room, ripping the door open. "Your mad woman is having a meltdown."

Angelus crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I gave you an order."

Franz stood at the human's door like a good little babysitter. Penn had wondered why Angelus hired the one of the best undead jack of all trades in the country. He had asked once and was told that it was because of the slayer situation. Angelus needed someone to keep a close eye on the minions while he dealt with her. Now, Penn knew it was all a lie. His sire needed someone to facilitate his transition into his new life

Spike opened his door, cigarette in his mouth, with a duffel bag in his hand. The smell of blood lingered on him.

"I also gave you one," Angelus said to his humbled childe. "You have ten minutes to get outside the city limits."

Spike nodded then glared at Penn, blowing smoke into his face, when he passed by Drusilla's door. Franz and Angelus followed him down the hall.

Penn bit his tongue, slammed the door closed behind him, and stomped back to his charge. He pointed his finger in her face. "You heard him. Pipe down and I'll go."

She screamed, writhing in her restraints, before she said. "They've turned against me. I feel my servants poisoning the air."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about." He backhanded her. "You two get in and out of trouble with slaps on the wrist. My humbling lasted three hours and I had to grovel on broken glass before you. You! When you were only a fucking fledgling who couldn't even hunt alone for fear that you'd try to turn a goat." He turned away and walked to the dolls. "I don't even know why I bother or why I get myself worked up." Picking up another doll with red curls, he tossed it at the ground and crushed its china head under his heel. "Its his way. He finds someone, obsesses, turns them and dotes on them for a few years before getting bored. He makes you love him then he ditches you for someone new." He grabbed a raven haired, regency doll, and turned back to her. "Its already happened to you, sister, and you don't even know it. At least I know he's not that into me." He drop kicked it across the room. "He was in the beginning when he seduced me from my father's home. You should have seen how he acted with me in Nap-."

She jumped and screwed her eyes shut as she interrupted, "Neither dead, nor of the living, I invoke you, spirit of the passing. Return to the body what distinguishes Man from the beast!"

"Well, there goes my monologue." Penn shrugged, grimacing, before sweeping two of the dolls off the dresser. "You know, every time you open your insane whore mouth, I'm going to break another one of your dolls."

Drusilla's lips twisted as she tried to stop her sobbing.

"Crying counts as a sound." He lobbed a doll in a blue dress, smashing the delicate antique on the wall above her head, showering her in china pieces. The dress floated down.

"I'm sick of playing these games, Drusilla," Penn said. He heard the hallway door open and a familiar confident stride walk right passed them before entering the pet's room. Anger flared up in him again. Penn picked up the only doll that had its own chair. Dark curls framed its aloof face. "Is this Miss Edith?"

She shook her head, biting her lip, fear in her eyes.

"It is her." Raising the doll, he looked into its face and smiled before tossing it at Drusilla's feet. Both porcelain arms shattered, but the head remained intact, protected by the thick mop of hair. "You say another word and I'll finish the rest off."

000

Buffy was on a fact finding mission into Xander and Giles's big secret. She had said she was going to do an early patrol, leaving the guys alone to research, but instead did a sweep of the campus before doubling back to the library. Her spider senses were definitely tingling. Buffy had walked in on too many dropped conversations that were, supposedly, about random topics-- geology, corn, and badminton. Unless Giles and Xander had joined a badminton league behind her back, they were hiding something. She came in through the back stacks and sneaked up on Xander. "What's up?"

He let out a shriek and dropped the old tomes he held. Dust billowed up from them. "Buffy, er, hi."

"I repeat, what's the what?" She crossed her arms.

Xander's mouth gaped open and he stuttered before spitting out, "Um, badminton?"

She raised her eyebrow before crouching down to pick up the books. "Come on, Xander, we're going to see your English leader." She held the books against her chest and marched him out of the stacks. "Oh, so this is whats going on."

Ms. Calender, standing at the long table, looked up from packing plastic baggies filled with herbs into a cardboard box that contained white pillar candles. Her mouth fell open. "Damn."

Giles walked out of his office holding a crystal orb and stopped at the sight of his Slayer.

"Are you guys having a séance without me?" She went down the small staircase and strolled between the two adults before crossing her arms. "I'm I not allowed to play wizard's apprentice too?"

"I didn't want to raise your hopes." Giles walked to Ms. Calendar, setting the orb in the box, before stepping up to Buffy. "I was going to tell you if it worked."

"Cut the crypto-speak." Buffy put her hands on her hips. She didn't care that they were doing spells just that they were lying to her about it. Admittedly, seeing Ms. I'm-Actually-A-Gypsy-Spy did sting a lot. "I just want to know what you guys have been sneaking around doing." She looked behind her shoulder at Xander then returned her eyes to her watcher. "Also, badminton? Really, Xander?" she rolled her eyes.

"We're only trying to help," Ms. Calendar said.

"I want to hear it from him." Buffy said in a low voice. "Thanks."

"We're going to re-ensoul Angel tonight." Giles took off his glasses, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and polished the lens. "Jenny translated the original spell."

Tears sprang to Buffy's eyes. "And you didn't tell me?" She shook her head and took a deep breath. It wasn't betrayal, but it did hurt. She thought she would be ecstatic to hear that she could get Angel back. She wasn't. Buffy didn't even know what she would say to him. Too much had happened for her to look at him in the same way. He hadn't just kidnapped Willow. He had killed so many people. Every day, Buffy checked the crime section of the newspaper and saw missing person after missing person or homicide after homicide that fitted with a vampire attack. Every day, she had to ask herself if the love of her short life had killed those people. The part of her that was pure slayer was angered that he would never pay for his crimes. It didn't matter now, she told herself, they needed a man on the inside to get Willow out of that house of horrors. Angel wasn't her boyfriend, Buffy told herself, he hadn't been for a long time. She felt her heart harden even more to her lost love affair and she couldn't help but wonder if this was what being an adult felt like. Wiping away tears, she said, "Let's just do this. Fill me in on this spell in the car."

00

Drusilla hung limp in the manacles that held her to the wall. Tears ran down her swollen cheek as she looked at the broken dolls scattered around the room. Her dear Miss. Edith, voice so calming and advice so pertinent, was lost to her and there was no one to help her supervise the others. The tears were for the soul of her littlest sister that she could feel weakening in inside the armless doll. Penn had destroyed her entire altar on the dresser, many of her dolls were cracked beyond repair, and most of her spells were ruined.

Visions, murky and heinous, wracked her mind. The wicked spirits that escaped her dolls were muddling her sight. She should have known that Little Lottie would be the first to blind her. A flurry of images and voices swirled together, mingling the past and the future with the present, and she didn't know what they all meant. Only one vision appeared clear as an orb. On a stage, a circle of candles surround an old peasant crone holding the hands of a modern day woman over her Angel. She saw faceless Aurelians, dressed in finery, in an opera house watching the spectacle while jabbering in tongues long since dead. Drusilla couldn't understand them and all of the sprites that whispered secrets in her ear flew away.

"Oh, the treacherous moon and dancing Pan underneath abandoned me." She shook her head. "I didn't know! The sounds catches and carries through the valley frightening me so. Angels fall, crashing, crushed under the feet of witches." Quiet sobs shake her frame before she asked, "Why won't anyone listen to me?"

Drusilla had lost so much today and she knew she would lose much more.

Chapter Seventeen: February 24, 1998 part. 3

-This chapter is dedicated to Mysticwolf1. Thank you for all your help and feedback.

Angelus felt all his years that night. His whipping muscles were out of the practice and a lingering stiffness tensed his shoulder. Beating Spike into submission had been cathartic, but tiring. It had also brought up old memories of the whirlwind existence he had made out for himself with his small clan back in the day. He couldn't stop himself from comparing his infamous past with his present. The century with the soul had done more than cage his demonic instincts in his body. It had unnerved him like nothing else in his existence. He had overcame all comers from his father, the grim reaper, the master, to Daniel Holtz. In life and death, he had been confident, some said too confident, but that curse had been the only thing to defeat him. When he was first rid of it, he was so disgusted with himself that he wanted to destroy all who had seen him in such as state. He'd never gone mad, but in those first few weeks he had come close. Revulsion had consumed him and he became fixated on mass means of destruction before he decided on brutal territorial expansion as a means of washing the taste of soul from his mouth and regaining his reputation. He often worried that somehow the soul would worm its way back in. Tonight though, he felt more nostalgia than angst, taking his aggression out on Spike had cleared his mind. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

All his important plans were falling into place, despite the detours and he couldn't help but be optimistic. Spike spoiled his plans for immediate vampiric warfare by forcing his hand into a Humbling to save face. Those minions would have been his foot soldiers when they took to the mattresses. He should have been much angrier, but the notion had struck him when he was punching Spike in the kidneys that he wanted to take his girls abroad in style once Willow got her fangs. He couldn't do that if he was bogged down in a Los Angeles turf war. The soul had stuck around America for almost a century and he yearned to take the Grand Tour again. Lemons into lemonade, he thought. Angelus unbuttoned the top few buttons in his shirt as he walked into Willow's room and closed the door with his bare foot.

She sat, with one knee up under her chin while the other dangled down, watching the hazy pink sunset disappear along the horizon. The rich red of her auburn hair glinted in the fading sunset as she reached to close the curtain. He had never seen her in the sunlight before.

"Don't," He said, safe in the shadows, transfixed by the sight of her. Angelus studied her features as she bit her lip, heart racing. She looked so fresh and delicate in her mortality. He knew he'd never forget how lovely she was with the changing light on her face. His fingers itched to put pencil to paper to capture her.

The sky darkened breaking the spell.

He strode towards her bookcase before picking out a book and flipping through it, bending down the corners of some pages. "You started the book I gave you. How sweet."His tone sardonic. He tossed the book on the bed.

Willow watched him with wary eyes. "Yes, Browning is a wonderful poet. Kinda creepy though."

He smirked, unbuttoning his shirt, as he walked around the bed, eyes on her. "I met him and his wife Elizabeth in Italy. It was the winter of 1848 in a charming restaurant by the seaside." He laid his shirt on her vanity as he walked closer to her. "Take off your dress," he said matter-of-fact.

Willow blanched. She gave him one hard look before complying as she reached behind and unzipped her dress. Pushing down the sleeves, she let it drop and stepped out of the dress. He could see her deep red satin bra and panties through her thin white under dress. Her hands fluttered about nervously, but she kept eye contact with him.

Angelus admired her for a moment with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He knew deep in his bones that Willow would make an extraordinary vampire. She had potential that he wanted to shape. Hidden depths that he had only seen hints of. There was also something about Willow that reminded him of Spike. Maybe it was her tight jaw or sharp eyes that belied her obedience. There was a lot of fight in the girl just waiting to come out, he thought, it only needed to be cultivated.

"That was an intense year. Tipperary. The Gold Rush. Revolutions everywhere." He took off his dark jeans leaving him bare except for his dark boxers. "I don't think I stayed in one place for more than a week." Angelus pulled down the covers, got in the middle of the bed, and laid back on the full pillows with a relaxed sigh. The sounds of china breaking came from Drusilla's room, but he ignored it. He was too comfortable. "Get in here with me."

Willow took a deep breath before stepping over to the bed. Fear surrounded her like perfume. She trembled as she got in. The redhead clung to the edge of the bed and looked everywhere but at him.

"Your maidenly virtue is safe tonight. I got my fill of rape and mutilation earlier," he said dryly picking up the poetry book.

She scooted closer, but still inches away from him, sitting up stiffly.

He smirked, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her up against him. "I'm in more of a literary mood."

Absently caressing her shoulder, he began to read aloud, _"That's my last duchess painted on the wall..."_

Willow radiated heat as she shifted trying to find a position that wasn't cuddling him, but in the end she relented and put her head on his chest.

Finishing the final stanza of 'The Last Duchess,' he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger before remarking, "You have beautiful hair. So red and long. Don't change it." He flipped a few pages ahead before he smirked. Such an appropriate poem, he thought. "_The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria..."_

By the end of the poem, he had begun to feel ignored by Willow as she laid pliant against him without a tremble or a word. It was only when he said the last line that he knew that she had been listening. "And yet God has not said a word!"

He felt a single tear drop onto his chest.

Angelus was crowing mentally when he felt it like a hurricane on the horizon. God might not have intervened, but his enemies had. The book dropped from his hand as he gasped. A horrible sense of dread overcame him.

"Wings on fire. The bells are breaking above the church. " Drusilla shrieked from across the hall."Oh, no, I promise, not a word. Not another one."

His soul. Angelus tugged Willow up and kissed her roughly. "Its been fun. I'll look you up when I'm myself again."He could feel its brooding presence coming to retake back his body, and he knew it would win control. There was no time to spare on this final present to himself. Biting his tongue, he coated his fangs in his own aged blood before striking, sinking his teeth into Willow's shoulder and drinking.

She screamed, but the effects of his blood kicked in quickly, and her fingers tightened on his arms as her struggles ceased and she arched up against him. Willow grew silent despite her rapid heartbeat.

Blinded by a burning cleansing light, Angelus screwed his eyes shut and gulped down the last bit of human blood he was sure to taste for a long time. The body became a battlefield as he tested his will against his souled counterpart and whatever witch the slayer got to fight her battles. He just couldn't let his fangs out without a fight.

The brilliant, blue-white, light ripped through him and his demonic nature was again shackled in the deepest corner of his subconscious.

Angel first felt the satin sheet against his feet and then the bare thigh against his. Warm hips under his hands. He heard a beating heart and smelled blood and jasmine. Slowly, he gained a fuzzy awareness of himself in bed with a woman who felt nice. He felt stuck in that limbo between sleep and daydreams before he tasted the most delicious blood he had in a century. Opening his eyes, he almost choked on it when he realized it wasn't a dream. Willow was the warm pliant mystery woman and he was stuck fangs deep in her neck. Swallowing it down, he pulled away and stared into Willow's green eyes in confusion as he took his hands off her hips with a jerk. He couldn't comprehend any of this. Why wasn't he waking up? The last moment he remembered was falling asleep with his arms around Buffy.

Blinking, mouth agape, Willow rolled onto her back with her hand on her wound. "What did you do? It feels like...nothing but--." Her pallor frightened him as most as much as her words. "First aid is in the bathroom."

Angel jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom with all his vampiric speed before grabbing the white first aid kit hanging above the toilet. "Where are we?" He asked as he opened the kit, took out gauze, and concentrated on applying pressure to her wound. Carefully, he bandaged her. "I don't understand."Then the memories came back, scraping his soul raw, and he understood all too well. The lives he had taken, the destruction he caused, the pain he inflicted on all those closest to him. The room spun as the screams echoed in his mind. It took all his self control not to stumble to the ground.

"Don't play with me. This is a new low even for you." Willow closed her eyes with a resigned sigh as she poked herself in the unwounded shoulder."Huh."

"Oh, God damn me," Angel whispered, remembering the last few moments of his demon's spree, and what he had done to her. How delicious her blood was... "He gave you the Lingering Kiss."

Willow whimpered, blood soaking into the pillows under her head. "It doesn't feel like nothing anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Willow."Angel added, 'for everything' mentally. Images of horror and gore flickered through his mind. Hunting down a pastor with Drusilla. Fucking Spike in the blood of young lovers, Torturing a family with Penn by his side. Angel didn't needed a flashback to remind him of what he did to Willow. Fang marks and bruising mottled her neck not including the newest one. He knew by looking at her that he had drank too much and she needed a doctor faster than she could get to one. He had to save her, despite the danger. Afterward, he would get her all the holy water and mageroyal she needed to combat any possible side effects."I can do something to save you."

She shook her head, the gesture weak, but the blazing look in her eyes strong.

"Not that." Angel bowed his head, wave after wave of intense guilt and shame made him want to beg for her forgiveness for what he had done and will do. "But you'll have to drink my blood. There isn't much time to explain."

She tilted her head, looking into his eyes, and asked,"Angel?"A terrible hope rose in her eyes that made his heart clench.

He nodded, swallowing back another apology.

"Do it and explain after."

Angel ripped into his own wrist with all the passion of self loathing and held it over her mouth. The blood dripped onto her lips and he couldn't take his eyes away from the sight of her tongue catching the stray drops. "You're human so this should only heal you."

She reached up and held his wrist with her good hand. Licking the cut timidly at first, she soon sucked the blood down greedily.

Angel gritted his teeth and willed himself to ignore the sensation of her mouth and the risks of what he was attempting. He pulled away, despite her whimper. to get off the bed. Looking at her vanity mirror, he had never been happier to not see his own reflection. "How do you feel?" He asked trying not to look at her laid out, bloody and beautiful, on the bed.

"Like-" Willow's words faded and grew cold. "I'm fine." She got off the bed and walked toward him. "How are you—you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." Angel still didn't understand how he could even lost his soul, let alone find it again.

Willow bit her lip before she pulled back her hand and smacked him hard across the face. "I'm sorry, but I kinda had to do that, you know?"

Angel nodded, cheek stinging, accepting the slap as much less than his due. His mind whirled trying to figure out how to get her out of this hell he had dragged her into.

"No, its my fault. All my fault." He could still taste her fruity lip balm and her blood on his lips. Looking at her now without any of the colorful tights and cardigans, he hated the satisfaction he could feel emanating from his demonic side. "I..." He couldn't begin. The apology died in his throat. What could he say to her? He might not have robbed her of virginity, but he had physically and emotionally scarred her. In any case, he had tortured and killed too many for that to be much of a comfort. Oh, merciful Mary, Angel thought rubbing his temple, he had recommended her to the Order too. "I don't know where to start. I can never make amends to you."

"Just take me home to my mom and dad, please." She slumped back against a bed post, with her arms around herself, eyes turned away from him. Her lips trembled.

Her reply was like a stake to his heart. The scent of tears reached his nose.

Willow held one hand over her eyes, shaking, as she tried to stop her sobs. "I tried so hard to never cry in front of you. Tried so hard to be strong." The pictures on the wall wobbled.

"You're stronger than you realize."Angel stared at the pictures, stomach sinking, as he realized how little he knew Willow Rosenberg and how big a mistake he had made. The pictures stopped moving, but he had felt the energy. Willow had magic, untapped and uncontrolled, buried deep and unnoticed, and he had forced it out. Angel turned away so she wouldn't see the frustration and anger at himself on his face. He could feel his demon smirking from its spiritual cage. He hoped that, if it came to it and she wasn't like most witches, then a couple of rituals would cure her. Angel went to her wardrobe, pulled out a satin bathrobe, and handed it to her. Shame and despair made his throat tighten. In the end, he was always a monster who looked like a man.

She put it on and tried to smile at him through her tears. "I hope so."

Rowdy voices and the sound of parking cars drifted up to Angel's keen ears. His minions were back.

He sighed. When his demon was in control, he had ordered Franz to make sure that they stayed in tonight in case Spike decided to rescue Drusilla so he couldn't whisk Willow away in the night without notice. Angel knew he could fool the six minions and Penn into believing he didn't have a soul, but Franz... The man had known him for too long. Then there was Sam Lawson. Old, but still heavy guilt surged forward when he thought about turning the young G.I. Lawson was the only one who had seen him with a soul. His mind still reeled with the horror of the last months. He didn't think he could keep that off his face at the moment.

Angel stared at the hands that had caused so much bloodshed with disgust. Red stained his fingers. The curse that he had come to see as a blessing in disguise had unraveled in a way he had never expected. It was brilliant as it was cruelly just. At the very moment he had let himself feel peace and contentment, his demonic urges would take over to destroy whatever life he had created including the people in it. No doubt that the gypsies knew that the first ones that he would hurt would be the ones he cared about. He had always thought his soul was permanent, a tendril of fear curled around his heart, he could lose it again. Balling his fists, he knew that the blood would never wash away.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. Angel knew that he could never make amends, but he would keep Willow safe. "I promise that I will get you out."

Willow smiled and reached out to touch his cheek. She looked achingly beautiful with hope in her eyes and his marks upon her neck. "I know you will, Angel, you're one of the heroes."

He bowed his head, the gentle touch of her fingertips and sincere trust hurt far more than the slap, feeling the weight on his deeds like an anchor around his neck. Angel felt more like a fiend than one of the good guys.

She knelt in front of him and drew him in for a hug. Smoothing his hair, she held him, murmuring soothing lies about how everything was going to be okay.

"I never knew I could lose it." Marveling at her kindness, he kept repeating. "I'm so sorry." Willow should have pummeled him, but instead she comforted him and still trusted him. Angel knew if she understood the price of blood healing that she'd slap him again. As she held him in her soft arms, showing compassion to the monster that had tormented her, he knew that he would protect her even if it killed him. He owed her that and so much more. "I didn't know."

They clung together, lost children in the dark, whispering ideas of escape and reunion. Sitting on the floor, they ignored the bloody bed against their backs and the dark history between them.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Eighteen: The Morning After the Storm

Buffy dozed in front of Giles' unexpected TV, found buried under a pile of books, half watching the civil war documentary and half waiting. Black and white photos of long dead soldiers, wounded in old battlefields long since turned into strip malls, were on the screen. The scent of sulfur lingered in the air. "I can't believe this only gets PBS and Telemundo." She frowned. "Actually, on second thought, I can."

"TV rots your brain," Giles replied from the kitchen where he was putting a kettle on the stove for tea.

"She's right, Rupert," Ms. Calendar agreed, laying on the couch with her arm over her eyes. "You ought to get some rabbit ears, at least."

As he walked back into the living room, he gave Buffy his 'watcher' look. "I'll keep that in mind," He remarked dryly.

"While you're making mental notes, I'd suggest updating the old movie library." She rolled her eyes as she reached for the remote to see if there was a telenovella on. She was sick of death. While she smiled and put a veneer of cheer in her voice, all she felt was worry. It had been more than two and half hours since they had finished the spell. Doom and gloom scenarios played on repeat in her head. Doubts picked at her. What if they had done the spell at the wrong time endangering Willow and Angel? Should they have done the spell during the day? What if it hadn't worked at all? Ms Calendar wasn't a full witch and Angel had killed her uncle weeks before cutting them off from any members of her family who might have had useful information about the original curse. She hadn't said much, but it seemed as if her relatives weren't speaking to her at the moment. Then there was the problem with the missing end notes of the curse... Buffy turned the channel.

"Have you even seen anything since Chariots of Fire?"Ms Calendar asked, pale but smiling, as she sat up to give him room on the couch. The spell seemed to have taken a lot out of her. When the computer teacher had chanted, in a strange voice at the end of the ritual, light shining in her eyes, looking totally possessed, it was super freaky. Her hands had shook when they had been cleaning up the bones and other spell ingredients.

Buffy had gotten the major wiggins then and it hadn't let up yet.

Giles sat down, shaking his head with a grin, and opened his mouth to reply.

Her cellphone rang. Buffy tensed. Ever since they had done the spell at sunset, they had been waiting for a call or a sign. Xander was doing the same thing at his house. Even Cordelia promised to move a student council meeting into the library so she could monitor the phone there. She drew her cell from her purse with a shaking hand. "Hello?"

"Buffy," Willow whispered her name with audible relief.

"I'm so happy to hear your voice, Willow, I've missed you so much." Buffy paused trying to phrase the question right before asking simply, "Are you okay?" She already knew that her friend was in no way okay and was probably a gazillion miles from it. Guilt tugged at her heart. She couldn't help but feel like she was partly to blame for everything. If only she had been a better slayer... Hell, she hadn't even read the manual!

"As much as I can be." Willow sniffled, emotion in her voice, before she continued quietly, "I can barely believe its you, like its a dream."

Buffy couldn't stop her tears. "I'm so sorry that it has taken this long."

"I know. Did you guys do whatever changed Angel back?"

"The spell worked," Buffy told Giles and Ms. Calendar. There was so much she wanted to say and to ask, but mostly she just wanted to hug her best friend. "We need to figure out how to bust you out. Let me put you on speaker phone."

"We've thought up some ideas,"Willow said. "Its going to be a daytime attack."

000

Angel leaned his head back, eyes closed, composing his emotions as he sat in the chair. Willing himself to ignore the slowly awakening girl and the cloying scent of her drying blood, he hoped her heart would slow back into sleep. He couldn't face her yet. Last night, he had thought he could never feel worse. He was wrong. The metaphorical harsh light of day evaporated the fog in his head and made him fully understand what he did. He claimed Willow and afflicted her with a Lingering Kiss. It was odd. He had noticed before Willow for her intelligence, kindness, and love of colorful hats, but she wasn't on his radar. Now, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

He had gotten little rest because of nightmares of what he had done and what he wanted to do, courtesy of his demon. He was far more vulnerable to his demon while he slept. Especially torturous were the visions of his plans for Willow. She was an innocent and he wanted to make her a monster. Every time he closed his eyes, images of Buffy crying rose to the fore, and those weren't even the wost. The worst was when he dreamed of Willow straddling him, feeding on him, while he bit her. His demon mocked him for falling straight into his trap. The idea was to mark Willow with his claim and force Angel to do something drastic. His demon would have settled for Willow's turning, but making the unexpectedly witchy woman crave vampiric blood was even better. Angel didn't want to think of the other side effects of the Lingering Kiss or the unforgettable scent of Willow's neck.

The mark on his wrist had faded but he could still remember her soft lips on his skin. Even with his eyes closed he could imagine her fragile body laid out on the bloody bed with his claim mark hidden under a bandage. Angel gritted his teeth. The sun had risen hours ago and he could feel its heat through the curtain despite the pouring rain outside. A part of him wanted to rip it down and do the world a favor.

Willow laid on her side with her head on her hands, on the far half of the bed, looking over blood stains and into his eyes. The scars on her neck were accusations. She made his heart break even as he lusted for her blood. "Morning."

He told himself that was all his lusted for. Angel tried to smile, be friendly, be something other than a poor brooding excuse for a hero."You slept well.

"Like it didn't happen." Willow rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. The green satin of her nightie brought out the red of her hair and the purple in the bruises around his bite.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are." She sat up and searched his face, questions lurking in her gaze. There was a maturity in her green eyes that haunted him."Are you ready?"

"I have to be." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, wondering when he became so easy to read and she became near inscrutable. More guilt piled on him. He forced her into learning a poker face."It should all be over soon."

"I can see that you're getting brood happy." She circled her finger around her face. "Its the sad puppy expression. You need to do better than that."

"I'm trying." Angel knew she was right and he was lying. He couldn't help but want to cling to his guilt like a lifesaver. It told him that he wasn't a beast. Worry ate at him that once he started to act soulless that it would be hard to stop. He opened his mouth.

"Don't apologize."She wrapped her arms around herself. "That's not going to help us." Willow got out of bed.

"What am I doing wrong?" He asked. "Look at me."

She bit her lip as she glanced over her shoulder. "Angelus had an edge. Anger. A hunger. I can practically see your soul, all soul-y and sorry, in your eyes."

"I can't help it."

Willow snorted. "You could help your shiny soul last night!"

"Pardon?" Angel stood up, confused by her words, but not her meaning. That's what haunted him when he replayed feeding on her in his mind. His soul returned and he didn't stop right away. The moments before he stopped drinking seemed endless in his memory.

"You know what I mean, mister." She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Scratch that. I-I don't even know what I mean. I feel...Its weird. I'm weird, I guess." Willow took a deep breath."Don't worry. I'm a grumpy-gus when I wake up. I won't do anything rash as Giles would say." She shook her head and pasted a fake smile on her face. "I'll stay put like a good little damsel while the heroes rescue me."Willow turned away to go open the wardrobe rifling through it. She pulled out a cotton dress and looked at it with a frown, muttering too low for a human to hear. "I'm not going to wear a dress for at least a year after this."

"I'm-." He winced and stopped himself from apologizing again.

"If you get me out then you don't need to be sorry." She smiled wanly at him;. "I know that you weren't yourself and that you did what you had too."

She wouldn't be smiling, he thought, if she knew how thin the line was between his soul and his demon. Angel flashed back to the last time he fed on her. Pressing her warm body against his, her scalding blood filled his mouth and he could have drank her forever. He stared at her pulse and wondered how much of her blood he had drank with and without his soul.

She nibbled her lip, focused on his neck, before she peeked up at his eyes. "I'm going to change." She scurried into the bathroom.

Angel rubbed his temple as he walked to the open wardrobe. Ever the master of the tiny detail, his demon kept a change of his clothes mixed with hers. A reminder about the fragility of her privacy and his other dark intentions. The devil was in the details, he ought to know. He put on the red silk shirt and leather pants. He turned around, when she came out, without realizing his mistake until he asked, "How do I look?"

Willow froze, midway through putting her hair up into a ponytail, and the high-necked lavender dress only emphasized her pallor when she blanched.

His own words came back to him before she said them.

"You told me I'd see you in that the night after you turned me." The words slipped from her as if she hadn't realized she had spoke. She raised her fingers to her mouth.

"I should have worn something else."

Willow shook her head."You need to be convincing long enough to stake them." She focused on his wrist, biting the inside of her cheek, a fearful hunger in her eyes. Little in her stance betrayed her usual meekness. Her pupils were dilated as she tilted her head to look him up and down.

"How long have you been a practicing witch, Willow?" He asked, changing the subject. Angel wanted to be wrong, wrong about her, wrong about the Lingering Kiss, and wrong about the need in her expression.

"I'm not really a witch. I've just done some spells with Giles for Buffy, but nothing serious. I'm better at chemistry than the dark arts." She shrugged.

"Somehow I don't think so." Angel raised his healed wrist and watched her gaze follow it with sickening foreboding. "I've made a mistake in healing you. Not that I should have let you die, but there are some side effects."

"A little elaboration would be nice." Willow looked angry as she put her hands on her hips.

Angel wasn't good at emotional moments, but he knew that he botched this conversation in ten seconds. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Are you feeling an odd craving that you can't understand?"

She gasped, lips twisted in disgust. "Your blood... Is that... You! I mean, him, I mean, you!" She stomped over to him. "Is that why I can't stop thinking about it?"

He nodded, wishing she would yell or slap him again."It can be cured in time."

Willow stepped closer and her tone became harder. "What can I do about this now, Angel?"

"The feeling is more intense in the beginning, but if you meditate-"Angel fought the urge to groan because his words sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

"I want to bite you," she interrupted, bottom lip quivering, stopping inches from him. She narrowed her eyes."What can I do about that?"

"You could eat and meditate. It won't feel like this everyday."Angel frowned at his own weak words. He took a deep unnecessary breath, eyes darting around the gilded cage he had kept her in, as he smelled her fear.

"I couldn't eat. My stomach feels like its tied up in boy scout knots. All I seem to want..." She trailed off, wrapped her arms around herself, and turned away from him. "I'm so sorry. Yelling isn't helping us."

He put his hands on her shoulders, standing behind her, invisible in the mirror before them."Don't be. I'm sorry. The cravings will grow milder and less frequent."

"That's good." She nodded, head bowed. Peeking out of the high neck of her lavender dress, the blood-speckled bandage was visible. Willow looked so small and alone in the vanity mirror.

He didn't like watching her be this way. She had always been his favorite of Buffy's group and the one who had treated him most like a friend. And she had been repaid for her kindness with a kidnapping and an mystical addiction to blood. He had promised to stop adding to the pain he had caused her, Angel told himself. He lifted his hands off her shoulders, watching her reflection. The words were easier to say when he couldn't see his own face. "I could feed you again." He couldn't stop looking at her lips.

She looked up at the blank space where he should have been in the mirror, took a sharp intake of breath, as she thought. "Are you, I mean, if you'd like, but I, um..." Willow stopped herself. "How much do I need to drink?"

"I'll stop you." Viciously slicing his wrist with his teeth, he then lowered it in front of her mouth. He tensed at the touch of her tongue to his skin.

Holding his arm steady with both hands, Willow licked up the small trail of blood from the cut, starving not sensual, before she began to drink. Her eyes fluttered closed. She leaned back against his chest with a barely restrained sigh of primal satisfaction, tightening her grip on his arm.

He couldn't watch her feed. It was... Angel stopped himself from thinking that way about Willow. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on anything other than her and her teeth on his wrist. He held his other hand, clenched into a fist, arm muscles stiff, at his side to stop himself from pressing her closer to him. The sensation of her mouth on the wound was too much for him to stand and remain a gentleman. Deep inside him, the demon laughed."That's it,"he said once he was sure she had a couple of gulps. Angel made himself tug his wrist away and open his eyes. He'd never forget what he saw reflected in the mirror.

She panted, head falling back, and didn't resist when he pulled his arm away. Licking his blood off her lips, head tilted back exposing her neck, Willow looked exquisite. In the dim light with her pallor and reddened mouth, she looked undead.

"Willow? Do you feel better?" Angel knew he'd have to wean her off his blood fast for both their sakes. He couldn't help but think that his blood would taint her. Once they were out, he'd make sure that she started the sacred herb regime. He didn't want to know what he'd do when she began to yearn to be bitten.

"Oh God..." The ecstasy of feeding faded from her features and she whirled around to grab his hands. "You can cure this?"

"You'll have to undergo a series of rituals, but its not permanent." He could feel her rapid heart beat through her warm palms. "I'll gather the ingredients and do all I can."

She squeezed his hands; her voice icy. "Does this tie me to you or can't I get my fix from any vamp?"

He shook his head. "Theoretically, any vampire."Angel didn't like the possessiveness that rose in him. She wasn't his despite the mark on her neck.

"So, I could ask Franz to pop open a vein and it would work just the same?" She crossed her arms, fond smile on her face."I'm glad he's leaving before Buffy comes."

"Franz could." Reminded of all the time that unlikely pair spent together, Angel gritted his teeth, hating the idea of the Dutchman getting his hands or fangs on her."I wouldn't suggest it."

"We can't do this right now.. We already have oodles of trouble without this thing-- whatever it is." She gestured widely before looking him up and down with a frown."You're having having doubts, huh?"

He nodded, discomforted by her new found insight into his psyche. "About pretending to be..."He trailed off.

"That they won't believe you or that you'll be too believable?"

He broke eye contact. "Both."

"You're afraid." She leaned back against the vanity and faced him, meeting his poker face with her own.

Old words from the past floated through his head. _You'll find that with the exception of an honest day's work, there's no challenge I'm not prepared to face. _Angel said, "I don't think you understand."

"Don't I?" She put her hands on her hips before shaking her head and closing her eyes with a sigh. "I shouldn't take this out on you; you're not one of the bad guys."

Those compassionate words of forgiveness didn't sooth him, but made him see how little she knew his nature or what he had done."You're wrong." He needed her to understand that the soul didn't make him righteous. He wasn't the man she wanted to think he was."I was me who drained you and me who fed you." Stalking closer, he ran a hand down her neck. She had to know that she wasn't safe with him. "Those are mine."

"Stop it." She looked away.

"Could you handle me pretending to not have a soul?"Angel asked, studying her face. He had her by the arms before she could blink. "You can't even imagine the depravity that was planned for you."Angel brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. "You call me a hero, but I'm not."

Willow shoved him.

He didn't budge. "He wanted your pain."There was a part of him that needed her to know he was a monster. There was a part of him that relished her rapid heart beat. There was a part of him that didn't want to let go. "I wanted you to bleed." Angel dipped his head, unable to met her gaze; hoping she understood this warning. "We're not two different people," he whispered.

"I know." Her tone was of resigned sincerity. She laid her hands on his face and forced him to look in her sad eyes. Willow smiled a shadow of her old grin."There's that edge."

000

Penn paced the antechamber, the scent of drying blood in his nostrils, as he thought. Coming back had been a mistake or a turning point in his unlife-- he still couldn't decide. All night he had pondered and raged, ignoring the screams of the human upstairs and the conversations of the minions below in the basement. He felt nervous energy burning him like the rays of the sun at dawn. Predictable Penn was an old joke, but he felt far from predictable as he touched the silver Humbling chains.

He remembered his Humbling in 1861. It was snowing hard that winter's night when Angelus had him dragged out of their lonely country manor into the orchard. He couldn't remember what kind of tree he was tied too or how many times he was whipped, but he would never forget the full moon shining over the frozen moor, reflected in the puddle of blood that eventually turned to ice.

"Penn."

Penn looked up at the object of his despair and knew he had to man up. "Angelus, I'm leaving today. I've already packed."

"Are you now?"His eyes were cold and except for his smirk, he could have been made out of marble for all the expression he showed."Don't forget to write."

Penn shook his head, laughing. It was a dry harsh sound even to his own ears. He grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the basement where the sewer entrance was. Penn didn't know what he hoped for, but indifference wasn't it. Angelus had always been the master of cruelty.

"Penn-" Angelus began to say when Franz stepped out of the upstairs hallway. He turned to look at the man in the business suit.

"Tell me when you have the time." Penn opened the basement door and took one last look at the man who had dominated his unlife for centuries. The hair was shorter and the clothes were modern, but those eternal brown eyes were the same. He shut the door and left his unbeating heart behind.

000

Angel knew if he was human that he would have been sweating bullets while he spoke to Penn. It took centuries of self control not to jump when he heard Franz on the stairs. He watched Penn leave out of the corner of his eye.

Franz walked down the stairs, gray eyes focused on Angel, two suitcases in his gloved hands. "Is there a problem?"

Angel shook his head, concentrating on looking calm. "He'll be back. He always is."

Franz nodded. "Very well."

Angel schooled his features into the cool expression that his demon favored. "I won't see any problems from you, will I?"

Franz shook his head. "I've been paid."There was something mocking in his expression; he looked like he knew a secret despite his impeccably polite manner. "Please give my best to Miss Rosenberg."

"Miss Rosenberg is none of your concern anymore."Angel couldn't help but remember Willow's smile when she spoke of the Dutch vampire. He smirked. "Don't worry, I finally have the time to devote to the girl without business inferring with my pleasure."

He nodded. Muted amusement gone from his features."Of course."

A knock on the door drew Angel's suspicious gaze.

"That should be my driver." Franz set his suitcases down and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, before opening the door.

Angel backed away from the weak light.

A uniformed chauffeur, a red 'W&amp;H' monogrammed on his jacket pocket, stood outside, with a black umbrella in hand and a matching blanket on the other arm, blocking most of the sunlight. "Mr. Pieterzoon?"

Franz bowed to Angel, his eyes flicked towards the upstairs as a restrained smile curled at the corner of his lips, before grabbing his fedora off the rack and putting it on his head. "It was a pleasure working with you."

The chauffeur wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and handed him the umbrella.

"Ditto. Thanks for all your help; I'll send you a postcard." Angel crossed his arms.

Franz turned back for one last look, gaze still upward, shielded from the rain and overcast sky by the umbrella, before he walked outside towards a parked limo on the tree-lined street. The chauffeur closed the door with a nod.

Angel pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and quickly dialed. "Its me. The house is yours."


	4. Chapter Nineteen: Epitaph of a Love Affair

**Chapter Nineteen: Epitaph of a Love Affair**

**  
**

_the night before in the Rosenberg residence...  
_  
Sheila Rosenberg was going to throw the bowl of peas at her husband if he sighed again. They ate on opposite sides of the small square table, but she never felt further away from him. She had loved him for decades and bore his child, she could have been dining with a stranger. The features were so familiar, but it was as if she was seeing his wire glasses, dark mustache, and hazel eyes for the first time.

She took another sip of her wine as she stared at the man who wouldn't meet her eyes. Dinner had come to be her least favorite time of day, but they both agreed that keeping a regular familial routine would be best for them and their emotional states. It was the sort of logical and rational decision that they prided themselves on making. Just like the logical and rational decision to let Willow have the space to find herself at a young age, to hire a succession of Hispanic nannies, and to let their research take them around the world for much of their daughter's life. Dinnertime was comforting in the beginning, then as the days went by as their hope decreased, the conversation morphed into even toned arguments then muttered accusations before being replaced with silence. She raised her chin and downed the rest.

Statistics. She had never hated them more. Over a third of marriages hit the rocks after a child's disappearance, she thought as the white wine flowed down her throat. Snippets from articles and studies, she had read over the years, plagued her with their depressing reality and cold numbers. Over half of teen and adult females were sexually assaulted during their abduction. Willow was in the demographic with the highest rates of homicide during an abducted. Sheila was sick of statistics. She reached for the bottle of wine.

"Another one, Shelia?" Ira asked, voice whiny from exasperation, breaking the purgatory of silence.

"Yes, Ira, another one. I'm sorry that having wine with my dinner upsets you." She poured her glass.

"No, the vodka you sneaked into your orange juice this morning upset me. This is just disappointing considering your family history." He took a bite of mashed potato.

"My family?" She sputtered, shook her head before tossing her napkin on the table. She sat up, taking her wine, as she said, "I'm not in the mood for this argument again."

"Fine, lets just avoid the subject again." He set his fork down with a clatter.

"Thank you," Sheila said over her shoulder. "You don't comment on my wine and I won't comment on your arsenal."

"Its one handgun." He threw up his hands as he stood. "For protection. Its obvious that we need one."

"Oh, don't lie to me." She slurred and held up two fingers. "You got two. I've seen the receipts for the shooting range. You're turning into Charleston Heston." Sheila jabbed her finger in the air at him.  
   
"I think you ought to lie down and sleep it off. There is no use arguing with you when you're drunk." Ira crossed his arms and looked away, mustache twitching as he struggled to remain calm and silent.

She hated his Mr. Cool act and glared at him. His sweater vest was stupid, Sheila decided. "Good night then, John Wayne. Have fun filling out your NRA membership form." She swayed as she stepped onto the foot of the stairs.

Her hot temper cooled into grief, Sheila couldn't help but look at the pictures of Willow on the wall. They chronicled her from pudgy baby hood to high school. She liked the kindergarten picture the best. Her little girl's smile was so bright and she seemed so happy before years of institutional, white-washed American education wore her down. Willow's pictures seemed to grow more somber through the grades. She stopped at the last school photo and touched the frame. Her daughter's face, features so familiar and like her own, was a mystery to her. Where are you, she asked the photo silently. Sheila gulped her wine before moving on with her nightly routine of grief.

She liked to imagine that Willow had simply ran away in revenge for all the times they had left her alone and had destroyed her room in a grand gesture of teenage rebellion. Maybe she had gone to Austin to become a documentary film maker or to Minnesota for the spring to live in a cabin by a lake where she carved driftwood to sell at summer music festivals. Sheila was well aware of how delusional her daydreams were. Willow was a sensible and level-headed girl who wouldn't leave for an day trip to Los Angeles without calling them.

Sheila forced herself to past Willow's closed door. She couldn't handle passing out in there and waking up again to Ira with that concerned expression on his face. Even worse was how that concern turned to frustration and disappointment. She didn't need to be in Willow's room to be overwhelmed by memories and guilt.

_They had missed the police's initial investigation so they were alone when they pulled down the yellow police tape and walked into their violated home.  
_  
_Ira let go of her hand when they reached the destroyed room. His jaw dropped. He was the one to tear up first as his eyes darted around at the torn clothing, ripped books, and fine layer of fingerprinting dust that covered every surface.  
_  
_She crouched down and picked up a shredded stuffed hippo that looked at her accusingly with its one and only eye hanging on by a thread. Ira had bought this for Willow the first time they had went to the LA zoo. Willow had been crying because it had been so hot and the polar bears kept swimming in circles. She had tried to throw her floppy orange hat to one to keep the sun out of its eyes. She kept saying that they needed to go back to their homes. Willow had been a sweet girl from a young age, Sheila reflected.  
_  
_Ira tipped the bookshelf back up and bent over to pick up a tattered copy of Alice in Wonderland.  
_  
_They cleaned up the ruined remains of their daughter's childhood together until sleep and despair claimed Ira. Sheila had sorted, cleaned, dusted, vacuumed, and decorated until past dawn. Forcing sleep at bay, she drank Irish coffee after coffee as she labored over her broken home. She kept telling herself that Willow would be back soon and would need her room as close to normal as possible. Picking up the pieces of her daughter's life, she worked through the tears. She hadn't cleaned Willow's room since she was small. As she cleaned, she didn't know what was worse. The items that had memories attached or the ones that didn't.  
_  
_The boxes and trash bags were still sitting in the corner of the garage._  


_She couldn't bring herself to put them out on the curb.  
_

Sheila stopped at the threshold to the master bedroom, tipped her head back to drain the glass and decided that she hated this house. It wasn't a home anymore. Sheila went through the motions of grooming, ignoring the sad drunken woman reflected in the mirror, before picking up her bottle of sleeping pills. It was empty. She shook the bottle then chucked it into the trash with a sigh. Her doctor wasn't going to fill her prescription so soon after her last bottle.

Getting into bed, Sheila watched the red numbers on her alarm clock for an hour before dozing.

_Wrapped up in Granny O'Shea's quilt with baby Willow in her arms, Sheila watched the snow fall outside the window as she sat in the rocking chair. The room was so warm and her mother's famous gingerbread cookies were almost done. She could smell them._

_Willow had fallen asleep long ago, but Sheila didn't want to let go. Her baby was so small and it was so cold outside. Somehow she knew that something was out there, in the dark forest, and it was after her baby._

_A loud crash shook the house. Cracks ran up the walls. It woke Willow up and she cried, face all scrunched and red, waving her tiny fists._

_Sheila tried to stop it and run, but her feet couldn't touch the floor. The rocking chair glided back away from the window with the blue curtains, the overstuffed floral sofa, and the rack of rose-printed TV trays straight out of the living room of her sixties childhood home and into the upstairs hallway of her adult house. Sheila didn't wanted to be here, she thought, tightening her hold on her child. They were getting too close to the danger. Willow wasn't safe here._

_The chair stopped in Willow's doorway where the door lay off its hinges. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, as she tried to scream. Her arms were empty._

_It looked like a wrecking ball had taken out the wall and the balcony to reveal a dark forest of ancient trees only a dozen yards away instead of their sleepy suburban Californian street. Snow piled up in the ravaged room._

_Sheila saw teenage Willow, barefoot and in her nightgown, start to walk up the mound as gusts whipped through the room sending loose paperback pages and snow swirling in the air. Snowflakes melted on Sheila's face and mingled with her tears._

_Willow looked back at her mother and spoke words lost in the harsh wind. She faded with every step up the pile of snow._  
_Sheila felt something that she could only describe as a malignant blight that set her teeth on edge and rose goosebumps on her skin, before she saw a shadowy male silhouette form beside her daughter. Throwing herself out of the rocking chair, she sprinted to Willow and reached the ruined threshold of the balcony seconds too late._

_Willow, translucent enough to see the falling snow behind her, jumped off the jagged edge and disappeared._

Sheila woke up crying.

000

Angel had been dreading and yearning for this moment since he became himself again. His last memory before he lost his soul had been the feel of Buffy in his arms when he realized that maybe redemption was this golden girl by his side. Now, he knew better; he didn't deserve redemption. He had worked to destroy her. He wanted her tears and her nightmares. He wanted to punish her for loving him. She hadn't just made him feel like a man-she made him feel like a worthwhile man. Angel, in return, had traumatized her and her loved ones.

Buffy had been standing outside the door for a full minute before knocking.

Angel couldn't blame her, he thought as he opened the front door to his old lover half hidden under a red umbrella.  
Buffy's breath caught in her throat as she raised the umbrella to looked at him. The ax in her hand belied the vulnerability on her face as she took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. She was so beautiful in the weak light.

He heard Giles' Citroen puttered to a stop at the curb. Stepping aside, he let her in. "I don't know where to begin."

"Maybe you shouldn't," She said, words almost a whisper as she gazed at him. The light that made him fall in love with her at first sight had dimmed. Pain filled her hazel eyes. He couldn't reconcile his memory of the newly chosen girl in her puffy orange jacket and cheerful leggings with the young woman, clad in a black cardigan and jeans, that stood before him. The differences in clothing were the least of the metamorphosis. Buffy had been a girl then, but now she was a woman who had known more than her share of heartbreak and he could see it on her thin face.

"I'm sorry." He continued, "After this--"

"We can chat and cry later." She looked away, the words more flippant than her tone. "Willow's waiting for us."

Relieved, he nodded before walking to the basement door. Angel had nothing else to follow 'after this' because what could he say to Buffy, who had opened her heart and soul to him, after all that he had done? "Stay out of sight until I say." Opening the door, he strode in.

The minions slept on a mix of cots and bare mattresses close to the door in the spartan basement that was decorated with a hodgepodge of posters, knickknacks, and goodwill furniture. The minions were newly turned and their sleep would be deep.

He hoped the sensation of their sire's entrance didn't rouse them. Sneaking upon the closest on a dirty cot, he looked into the freckled face of the college kid he had turned after following him back to his dorm after a game of night volleyball. He couldn't even remember his name. Angel crouched and staked him quickly. He moved to the couple curled up on a twin mattress whose names he did know-- Diana and Roberto. He first spotted them on a date at the Espresso Pump, laughing over foamy coffees, affection for each other clear. That hadn't died with them. He staked her first; her blonde hair turning to dust. Roberto awoke and Angel staked him before he understood his love's fate. Looking into the faces of his victims, the ones that he took even death away from, Angel knew for certain that redemption would never come for him.

The last three minions stirred.

"Buffy," he said, standing, knowing that he would and could stake Lawson, but Drusilla... Angel clenched his fist around the stake, telling himself that he would do what he had too. "I'll leave these to you. I have other vampires to wake up."

"Bring them downstairs and keep them away from her." She reminded him as she walked in, ax raised, every inch a Slayer.

Angel nodded, backing away to leave her to her calling, pained by his own guilt that seemed to increasing in weight by the minute. Forcing himself to shake it off, he walked up the stairs. There was no time for brooding-- He had a G.I. To kill.

000

Penn couldn't stop thinking of Angelus as he walked through the dank sewer towards the small parking garage where he kept his sedan. He shook his head with a snarl. More than a century as companions and that was it? They had escaped death, caused mayhem, and made sadistic merriment with one another for generations. Did that mean nothing? It wasn't always that way, Penn thought as he raised his bag over his shoulder.

_The cobblestones had shifted in the muck as he stepped into the cafe. Penn had straightened his dark wool waistcoat, smiling at the feel of the shillings in his pocket._

_Smoke enveloped him as he walked between the small rough hewn tables occupied by boisterous clerks in plain breeches and jackets. He greeted a pipe-smoking friend, who was debating philosophy alongside three other earnest young men, with a clap on the back. A group of men played cards in his usual table. He recognized most, but there was a stranger the dark corner._

_"Well, Penn, however did you get the good reverend, your father, to let you out?" A friend asked, taking a mug from the serving girl._

_"More than a few quick words and promises, I assure you." Penn laughed. "I am to reflect on Scripture if I am confronted by temptation."_

_"Finally going to gamble or will you just sit in and make smart commentary?" Another asked, shuffling a ragged deck._

_"Take a chair, play a hand, lad." The stranger leaned froward, his handsome features emerged from the shadows, and gestured to the empty seat."What your father doesn't know won't hurt him."_

_Penn met his eyes, deep and dark, and later he would realize that was the beginning of his end._

He climbed up out of the sewer, moving the manhole back into place, before looking for the dark corner where he stashed his car. Every step felt heavy as he walked to his gray sedan with its dark tinting.He patted himself down and pulled his keys out to unlock the car, got in, and threw his bag in the passenger side before starting up the car. Shrugging off his jacket, a silver pocket watch fell out onto the seat. Penn picked it up and gently put it in the dashboard compartment before slamming it shut with a growl. Angelus gave in to him on the last and best night of his human life.

  
_Penn stormed down the darkened street in a drunken fury, his ears still ringing from his father's words, towards Angelus' townhouse. Muleteers cursed him as he staggered in and out of the road. He roared back at them with all the obscenities he was taught to never to say. The walk was a dark blur as he walked through the decrepit streets of London with pickpockets and prostitutes lingering in alleys waiting for the next victim or john. Belligerent, he yelled at street urchins and pissed on a fine carriage before he reached Angelus' stately neighborhood. Sobered enough to remember the right house, Penn stumbled on the stoop and knocked._

_"Such anger in your eyes and such cheap gin on your breath." Angelus said as he opened the door. "Your father has vexed you again, I presume."_

_"Aye, he says he won't have a vice-ridden, gambler under his roof."_

_Angelus laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Mine said much of the same about me. Come in." He stepped aside before closing the door as he looked him up and down with a glance that practically caressed. "Does he know about everything-- all the debauchery?"_

_Penn reddened at just the thought of the sinful pleasures he had found in Angelus' bed despite his drunkenness. He shook his head._

_"Then you'll be free to go with me to the Continent." He brushed his finger's down Penn's cheek. "Let me finally take you away. You never belonged at a desk in a dusty merchant house."_

_Penn opened his mouth._  


_Angelus silenced him by swiping his thumb across his lips. "I'm leaving for Italy on the morrow. Will you be at my side?" He wrapped an arm around Penn as he tipped up his chin. "Forever?" Angelus asked, voice more serious than Penn had ever heard it.  
_

_"Of course. I'd like nothing better."  
_

_Angelus pulled a pocket watch from his waist coat. "This is a humble trinket of my eternal affection, but it is the first of many."  
_  
_"I shall treasure it forever more." Penn didn't know it then, but only one of them had told the truth.  
_  
Penn came to a fork in the road, he could take one way out of town or back to the mansion. He couldn't stop mulling over all the things he wished he could have said when he walked away. It was pathetic, but Angelus had been his first love. Penn opened up the dashboard compartment and pulled out the watch, rubbing his thumb on the Rococo detailing, as he thought of the centuries that were behind him.  



	5. Chapter Twenty – Waiting for Heroes

Image made by the lovely and talented .

 

Lawson became aware of his sire only seconds before the door opened. He sat up and stretched, scowling as he looked at the clock, wishing for a few more hours of shut eye. Being so close to his sire again was an odd sensation that Lawson wasn't sure he understood, but it was... He mulled it over trying to find the right word. Enjoyable? Noticeable? He decided it was soothing on a primal level though he'd never admit it. He wondered if the others felt this sort of connection to Angelus because the few short and hazy hours that he had spent with his sire in the sub hadn't effected him as strongly. Lawson didn't need to see his face to sense the other vampire's unusual mood. He put on his happy face as he threw on some socks.

Angelus knocked on the open door, a mocking smile on his lips, before leaning against the threshold. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Morning," Lawson murmured, grateful that the other vampire didn't turn on the lights. Angelus had written him letters of introduction to Sebastian and Matilda, two powerful vampires who had branched away from the Master to create their own conclaves long ago, and that required seeming obedience in return. It was one of the highlights of this disappointing visit. Lawson had hoped that meeting the evil alter ego of his sire would have been a rush or enlighten him somehow about his nature. It had been entertaining, a tad soothing, but hardly illuminating. "Its early. Whats going on?" Lawson asked.

"Someone didn't do their job." Angelus announced, submerged in the shadows of the dark hallway, a hint of menace in his low tone.

Lawson pulled on yesterday's shirt from off of the floor. This morning he had gotten to bed after dawn and collapsed without taking off his jeans. Tailing Spike in death defying high speed chases down the back roads and highways of southern California before weaving through traffic in Los Angeles after the son of a bitch was as exhausting as it seemed. That might have been why he felt more dead than usual. "Is it Spike?"

Angel nodded, disappointment in his eyes, and said, "I heard word that he was spotted in town. Close by."

Lawson shrugged as he slipped on sneakers. "Well, he did yell curses, swear revenge, and chuck an empty bottle of Jack at my car." He searched for the right words to weasel out of trouble at least until he woke up more or had coffee. The bed beneath him seemed as seductive as any gal's throat at that moment. "After we finally got him to stop by Venice beach, he was belligerent until he passed out and we tossed him in his car." He scratched his scalp as he fought a yawn. "I can't believe he's up right now for a suicide mission."

Angelus stared at him with unfathomable eyes and the silence stretched on between them for a few long seconds. "And yet he is." Angelus shook his head. "Fail me again, Sammy boy, and I will take the skin off your back."

Lawson nodded, lowering his eyes, and played meek as he hid a yawn. He knew Angelus would flay him for kicks, but he needed a cup of joe, a pint of blood, and maybe two more hours of sleep before he could care more. Besides, his insolence would be forgotten once Spike started up his shenanigans.

"Come on. Round Two of kicking Spike into submission begins." Angelus turned into the hallway.

Lawson followed him down the hall and onto the top of the stairs, wondering about the repercussions for his failure to realize that Spike was utterly retarded before deciding either way, he'd teach Spike for ruining his morning. The sound of fighting drifted up from the basement. "Sounds like your boy came though the sewer."

"Does it now?" Angelus asked, a look in his eyes that Lawson hadn't seen in decades. Familiar, it brought up memories of wet dark places and blistering sunlight. Lawson struggled to remember until it hit him like the chilly waters of the North Atlantic. "Oh, shit." He had seen that look right before Angel had killed him the first time. Lawson was awake now.

Angel punched him on the nose.

Lawson fell back against the ironwork railing before he swung himself over it into the antechamber. "I'll be damned." He laughed when he landed, but his chuckles died when he saw a small blonde girl walk out of the basement door with a dusty ax in hand. The slayer. Lawson shook his head, wondering why he hadn't noticed the soul before, that's what felt off about Angelus, he realized. "This is one hell of a morning." He backed away, towards the opposite wall away from Angel and his slayer, angling himself for a clear path to the open basement door. The vast tunnel network under Sunnydale and the smells therein would give him a chance to escape any trackers. A spark of excitement rose in him like he hadn't felt in years. Literally and metaphorically, his back was up against the wall; this might just be the end for him.

Angel jumped over the edge, landing in a crouch, before he stalked towards him. Sadness, rather than sadism, shone in his features. He pulled a hidden stake out from his long silk sleeve.

"Time to wake up and smell the dust, honey." The slayer said, chin up, glossy pink lips grinning. "Don't want to be late for your first day in hell."

"What's up with you trying to kill me every time I see you? Making me swim for shore was one thing, but waking me up to a slayer?" He laughed. "That's just cold."

The slayer and Angel rushed him.

Lawson fell back on his hands to swipe Angel's legs out from under him. Backed into a corner, he hopped up and cold clocked the slayer. "Little girl, I fought Nazis."

Angel leaped to his feet.

"Yeah, yeah, greatest generation, blah, blah." She swung her ax, aiming for his neck, but only grazing his arm as he threw himself to the side. The Slayer rolled her eyes. "I bet you walked a mile, up a hill, both ways to get to school too." She caught him upside the head with the blunt end of the axe.

Lawson dropped, head swimming, as Angel came towards him with a stake. He wondered what would meet him on the other side, he bowed his head, expecting Angel to finish the job he started so many decades ago.

Spike, whiskey-scented with a ratty, wet blanket over his head, crashed through the unlocked door. It slammed into the wall with a crack. He tossed the blanket aside. The swelling had gone down, but the blond vampire still looked like he had gotten the tar beaten out of him. Jutting out his chin, he smirked at them as he shifted into his vampiric face. "Hope you don't mind crashers at this little shindig." His eyes darted from Angel to the slayer, taking in the whole scene before he snorted. "Ah, balls."

0000

Penn stepped inside the mansion after breaking in through the back door. He frowned, hearing the crack and Spike's voice, as he walked through the kitchen to the door leading to the antechamber, sticking to the shadows. Sneaking closer, he saw, in the far corner, his sire posed over Sam Lawson with a stake and the slayer by his side. He didn't need Spike's announcement to know what that the sick tableau meant. He backed away, fists clenched, shaking his head, feeling like he might just throw up for the first time in over two centuries.

Looking around, he scoped out the empty kitchen where only the fruit bowl of apples betrayed the fact that there was a human in the house. He ducked out of the line of sight from the antechamber, closer to the doorless threshold of the pantry lined with mismatched bare shelves.

Time to change the plan fast, he thought, time to not be Predictable Penn.

He noticed that the sides of the pantry had shelves that looked original to the house while the ones of the back seemed newer. Leaning his head, he focused on the odd away the wallpaper pouched behind the shelves. This house was from the 1920s, Angelus had told him, and most mansions built then still had servant quarters and hallways to keep the help out of sight. On a hunch, he knelt down and smiled when he saw the small door knob tucked under a shelf. He wrenched off the cheap particle board shelves and put them on the other shelves as quiet as possible before he jerked plain metal knob and broke the lock. Penn cut the wallpaper, in the outline of the door with a claw, and opened the door carefully on its squeaky hinges. Dust billowed up in the long unused area. Penn stepped inside and saw it was a staircase. He couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped his throat as he closed the door behind him.

As Penn ran up the hidden servant's staircase, he didn't feel predictable at all. Sure, he might be sire-struck, but this time he'd get his sire, make sure that he lost that soul, and force him to finally fucking listen for once. He might not be able to bind him with kisses, but chains would do.

0000

"I thought he was gone," Buffy said, sighing. It took all her strength to stay calm so close to Angel. She just wanted to take Willow home then avoid those brooding brown eyes until her brain stopped being a confusing and inappropriately erotic or violent place. There was one thing that was for certain- she stopped trusting him or her feelings for him. It was hard to love someone after they boarded the train to psychotown and then became mayor on a homicide-based platform. She could go against her calling and she didn't care that he was a cradle-robbing creature of the night, but people had died and people had been hurt.

"I had hoped so." Angel shook his head, frowning. "I was lying to Lawson earlier."

"Just like old times again." Spike smirked and clapped his hands. "Well, kiddies, I'll be taking Drusilla and going on my bloody merry way."

Buffy laughed. "By all means, oh wait, how about no?"

"If you insist." He mock bowed before stepping into a fighting stance.

"I think I am." She jumped forward, dropping her ax, before spin kicking Spike in the chest. Buffy shouldn't have been surprised. The blond vampire wouldn't have left Drusilla behind no matter how what Angel had done... Buffy sneaked at a look at her ex-boyfriend, who was fighting Lawson, so she didn't see Spike's fist, but she felt it hit her stomach. Wake up, Summers, she told herself, there was no time to think about him. She grabbed Spike by the ears and slammed his face against her knee before raising him up and punching him. Buffy had to stop letting Angel be her weakness.

His head whipped back, he staggered, before he threw a right hook. They traded blows. "Feel that?" Spike asked, looking at Angel, smirk on his pale face. He shot Buffy a sly look before he gestured 'time out', hands making a T, and backed away. He said to Angel, "Hear it, mate?"

Yells, from two different women, filtered downstairs. Drusilla rattled her chains like Marley's ghost upstairs.

Buffy glanced up before looking at Angel, thinking, he should have staked her first since he already had her tied down. He had said he had his vampires under control, she thought, squaring her jaw and preparing for a fight.

Xander's words came next to her mind, "How do we know he's really ensouled? He's fooled us before." He had hated this plan from the start and argued against it as vigorously as anyone could at six in the morning with a bite of jelly donut in their mouth. "He shouldn't be your kryptonite, Buffy," Xander had said later, pulling her aside into Giles's cramped bachelor's kitchen, right before she left this afternoon.

She inched away from the blond vampire.

"Well, fuck a duck, take a gander at you, evil to good, then back to evil, and now, what, you've dusted off your white hat again?" Spike snorted.

Angel blocked Lawson with a punch. The vein twitching on his forehead was his only reaction to the blond vampire's words.

Lawson reeled, feinting, then elbowed him in the face before pushing past Angel to get behind Spike.

Buffy angled herself to keep both of them in sight. Now she was the one in the corner. Great job, Summers, she thought. She shook her head and began to weight her chances of getting up the stairs through the two male vampires and then Drusilla. She didn't even want to know what was going on between Angel and Spike. What was happening upstairs with Willow, she asked herself. Looking over the scene, she frowned. There were times in a slayer's life when she had to re-evaluate it. Buffy knew this was one of those times -- after she kicked some vampire ass, of course.

Lawson grinned as he pointed up. "Seems like the lady of the house is waking up."

"She's sick of waiting for me to rescue her." Spike remarked. He caught Buffy's arm, tilted his head, looking her up and down. His brow furrowed and his gaze was dismissive. "Sad to see you fighting with the wanker who fed on that lil' redheaded chit. Your best bosom buddy, wasn't she?"

"You don't know anything about it." She punched him across the face. That was the trouble with Spike, he couldn't just fight, he always had to make bitingly insightful banter.

Spike didn't let go of either her arm or the subject. "Don't I? Seems like I'm the one who has seen more of the bird lately. Saw the bite marks on her pretty little throat myself, I did. Hell, I saw tall, dark, and homicidal carry her in, all unconscious in her nightie, salivating over her jugular." He pushed her back. "And, now, here you are fighting side by side with the man who spent the last few weeks ravaging your tiny 'berg."

Buffy stumbled, but kept her balance. She narrowed her eyes . Wishing he wasn't right in twisted vampire logic, she then conceded, he was right in regular human logic. too She had tried so hard to be a girl and a slayer, but maybe this was the reason that Slayer didn't date. She probably should have learned that lesson after Owen and their magical night at the funeral home. Buffy figured that the next edition of the slayer manual will feature a section called "Don't Do What Buffy Does." In hindsight, she also probably should have read the manual too.

"Not all that Slayer-like, innit?" He nodded at the lack of reply. "That's what I thought, luv."

"Spike," Drusilla called from the top of the stairs, dark circles ringed her wide eyes, and her hair hung in wild tangles. "Penn has our vicious darling and broken all of my dolls. Hurt him, oh someone hurt him with fire. Pretty please." She stomped her foot dainty as a debutante.

"Oh, Slayer, looks like Soul Boy let your mate get nabbed. Penn's not gentle with pets either." Spike held up his hands as he stepped closer to the foot of the stairs. "Where'd he go, Dru?"

"Out the back. Ghosts of maids long since dismissed follow him into the garden." She put her bands around her neck, her smile widening, as she closed her eyes and swayed. "He wants to pop her head off like a dandelion." She ran a hand down her chest.

From the back yard, Buffy heard Willow scream for her.

"I can feel her anger, forge bright and powerful." Drusilla shivered, opened her eyes and smiled, showing too much teeth. She went all space cadet, staring into the distance, as she said, "What a good girl."

Buffy edged towards the door leading to the kitchen and the backyard. She didn't know how Penn had gotten upstairs; they had gone over the details of the mansion's design; and there was only supposed to be one way up. This plan of Angel's had gone to hell and she just wanted to get Willow out. Angel could deal with his spawn by himself until she got Willow somewhere safe.

"Well, you heard the seer, kill us or save her." Spike pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.

Buffy didn't hesitate or look at Angel, she bolted for the back before Spike finished speaking. She could only run and hope to make it to her friend in time.

000

Willow paced in front of the bed. Ever since Angel left, she had stalked the room thinking of home while trying to push all thoughts of feeding off him out of her mind. What she felt feeding off Angel was so much more than her timid and awkward fumbling under the covers at night or daydreams about Xander could have prepared her for. It made her uncomfortable and made home seem farther away somehow. Willow jumped at the sound of a distant thump then there was a crash. She really wished she had a weapon.

The knob jiggled before the door whipped open.

"How did you get in?" She demanded as she whirled around.

Penn smiled, pushing glasses up, and ignored her question. Grabbing her, lightening fast, he pinched her cheek. "We're going to take a trip, tiny human." He forced her out of the room, dragging her across an upstairs living room then through an closet with an open hole in the back wall and a door on its floor.

She walked over the door, faded wallpaper clinging to it in curls, to a bare set of stairs. It was musty in the secret chamber. She could see Penn's footsteps in the dust.

He pushed her onto the top of the rickety stairs. "I left the house without getting his full attention and now he's the slayer's fucking boy toy again."

Willow grimaced, anger filling her as she fought her fear. A chill ran down her arms; she tried to focus on the rage; anger was more useful than fear. It would be an understatement to say she was darn tired of being kidnapped. Just like Spike, it was all about Angel and she was just a helpless pawn in their game with no control and definitely no instruction manual. That was going to end today, she told herself hoping it was the truth.

"He won't disappear for a hundred years this time." Penn threw her over his shoulder. "I know with you in horrible danger that he'll come."

Drusilla's shrieks echoed down the stairs.

Yelling, she pummeled his back. Willow refused to be hauled around like a sack of potatoes. She twisted, reaching up to dig her nails into the soft flesh around his ear, and scratched at his neck. Willow didn't think in those slow seconds as she struggled. Instinct drove her and her heartbeat thumped in her ears.

He shook her, cursing. Tossing her against the water stained wall, he then touched his bleeding ear.

Willow fell, covered her face with her arms, pain blossoming quick and sudden on the back of her head, before she tumbled down the gritty stairs. The room was a dark blur. Her head spun, but she stumbled to her feet towards the light she saw streaming out of the crack under a door. She hoped it was daylight. Despite her nausea and possible faintage, she still remembered the first lesson she ever learned about vampires after 'don't go out for ice cream with them' -- they didn't have much fun in the sun.

Penn caught her by the back of her dress before hauling her up and grabbing her upper arms.

She threw her head back, thumping his nose, before yelling for Buffy. Fear was overshadowed by a manic rage that bordered on hysteria. She wanted that door open with all her heart. Speaking low, she said the words of the spell. Willow needed the sun on her face. Willow wasn't going to hold back anymore.

The door opened, slamming against the wall, dust billowing up from the dusty floor, to reveal a kitchen with dark overcast sky outside its open door.

She sagged in his grip from disappointment. The sun filtered through the clouds seemed to have no effect on him.

He pushed her through the kitchen, with a hand over her mouth, outside to the backyard. Rain fell in fat drops on the overgrown garden.

Willow cried a few tears before she remembered she needed to be angry.

"The sun isn't going to save you now, little girl. Neither is Angel. He's too busy with Spike and Sammy boy." Penn huffed, gripping her arm, and shoving her out into the neglected garden. The rain pelted them. "Nice trick, I gotta say. I guess someone is going to be bound, gagged, and unconscious for the ride to my cabin."

The slick bricks scratched at her bare feet as she tried to get her bearings. She looked around trying to find any kind of weapon. Twigs and sticks lay around the trees and the ivy covered walls. "You know that he'll stake you, right?" She asked, stumbling to her feet. "He won't hear you out."

"Shut up." Penn backhanded her. "What do you know of it? He made me first. Besides, he lost that soul once and he can lose it again."

Willow steeled herself, willing her inner-Cordelia to come out. "Where were you then all those times when he was with me or Spike or Drusilla? I mean, he never even mentioned you. Maybe you ought to stop being so creepy and clingy..." Willow struggled for another insult. "And, a big dumb guy." She yelled for Angel and then Buffy as she slapped him. Note to self, she thought, work on my Cordelia impression. Throwing herself back, she slipped from his grip. She backed away, looking for a sturdy twig, wondering how she'd get past him.

"I'll take you apart, piece by piece, and drop you like bread crumbs to lead him to me if he proves stubborn." Penn grabbed her by the neck before tugging a wet lock of hair by her ear. "They'll be mailing bits of you to the morgue for weeks. Your mother won't be able to recognize you. It might take weeks to get to that point however." His icy grip squeezed and she gasped, spots appearing in her vision. "He taught me to be patient."

If Penn had threatened her weeks ago, or even days ago, she would have crumbled, but not now. She had one weapon and one chance; she was going to use both. She knew that the ride to Penn's horror shack would be one way and that he'd do all the horrible things that Angelus didn't have the time to do and then some. Willow had waited for the heroes to come get her, but she was about to be tied to the metaphorical train tracks without a Dudly Do-Right in sight, there was no time for little Miss Nice Willow. Her voice was hoarse from being choked. "Wanna know why Angel won't hear you out?" Magical energy tensed her shoulders and make her fingertips tingle as she felt it channel through her. The stick rose. A smile tugged at her lips.

Penn forced her towards the back gate. "Jesus, you're a little know-it-all."

"Think of Angelus," she murmured, more rasp than words, as she concentrated on striking the heart.

Penn grunted, eyes boring into hers, as he turned to dust, squeezing her until the end.

Willow slapped her hand over her mouth, coughing, adrenaline making her tremble, as she backed away from the dust. She could still feel Penn's hands turn to dust on her skin. Willow thought she was going to hyperventilate if she stayed at this prison. Already the walls seemed to close in on her and she heard footsteps. She wasn't going to be caught again. She wouldn't be tied down or ripped up like bread crumbs. Her thoughts kept churning faster until there was nothing. She made the decision on instinct.

Spinning around, she bolted out of the garden. She couldn't think, she just knew that she needed to get home. The wet wind whipped her hair behind her as she sprinted barely even noticing the rough ground or cold puddles on her bare feet. The thought of home spurred her forward. Looking up at the street signs, she almost fell from the shock of realizing she had only been a little under a dozen blocks from home. She paused; her knees shook. It was like a slap to the face so she kept running because she knew that if she stopped that she might not be able to start again. She had to be strong still. She could fall to pieces in seven more streets, she told herself. Then in five. Blocking the terrorfearreliefworryagonyjoy that made her chest tight and knees weak, she focused on running. Blotches marred her vision; her head felt light. Willow ran faster through the rain as she turned onto her street. Running up her walkway and to house's door, she banged on the door with both hands frantically.

"Mama!" she yelled as loud as she could, throat burning, body freezing, as she dropped to her knees on the scratchy welcome mat. "Dad! Please open the door."


	6. Reality

The three vampires had scattered once Buffy had sprinted out back.

Drusilla ran, a supernatural blur in lace, downstairs to Spike and they held hands as they left out the front door. She spun on the sidewalk, giggling, raising her arms to the sky, before getting into the de Soto.

Angel cursed, chased after them, but stopped on the front step to turn back inside, with one last look at Drusilla, to follow Lawson. He paid no mind to his doubts and self-recriminations, as his plan fell to complete horseshit around him, he needed to focus. Angel had made this mess and he should be the one to clean it up.

The GI ran down the stairs to the basement and across the room to the sewer entrance. Throwing aside the manhole cover, he jumped in. The cover skidded to a shrieking metallic halt against the wall, clanging on impact.

Angel cringed at the sound, sprinting through the basement, before he jumped in after Lawson. He tracked the other vampire for a half mile through winding sewers before he pulled back to go help Buffy. He had never felt so useless before. Every fast step felt like an eternity as he hoped that Buffy stopped Penn and tried not to think of the consequences if she hadn't.

000

Sheila had her arms around her daughter before she was even sure that it wasn't an Ambian flashback. She knelt down in the threshold, clutching her daughter close. "Ira!" Even as she cried tears of sweet relief, she cataloged the bruises that circled her daughter's neck. Sheila could feel that she had lost weight. "Willow is home."

"Don't wake up," Willow kept repeating in a raspy fading voice. "Please, don't wake up." She shivered, sobbing, and pressed her face into Sheila's shoulder.

"Its not a dream. You're home!" Sheila raised Willow's face and stared into her eyes. Her wet hair clung to her back and cheeks in wild clumps. Bruises purpled on her face, a bloody bandage hung loose on her neck, and her bottom lip was swollen. Blood dripped down her forehead from a cut near her hairline. She wore an lavender dress, thin and damp; its hem was ragged and mud spattered. Sheila looked down at Willow's feet, bare and coated in muck, and couldn't stop the sob that escaped her. She looked like she ran through all nine circles of hell to get home. Sheila lifted Willow to her feet then helped her into the house.

"Willow!" Ira said, running down the stairs, face puckering as he struggled with his emotions. "My daughter, my little girl, I was so scared." He stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked at her in wonder and shock before he hugged them both. Letting go, he said, "Give her some air."

Willow swayed when Sheila let go. "My head got hit on a wall. I'm kinda woozy."

Ira caught her before she fell, lifted her up and carried her up the stairs. He whispered to her, "You're safe now. You're home and you're safe and I'll make sure that you'll never be in danger again. I'm so sorry."

Sheila had never felt such relief before, but now the fear and worry of what Willow survived had deflated her joy. "We need to get her to the hospital."

"I know, Sheila, but she needs to get into dry clothes." He shot her a look, a mix of guilt, pain, and relief, over his glasses before he said in a broken voice, "We need to clean and bandage her feet at least."

Sheila snatched the cordless phone before following them up the stairs. She said something to the 911 operator, but her attention was on the pale face of her child. She went into Willow's bedroom, as she spoke to the operator, she told the woman that they would be going to the hospital and that they needed to send police officers to meet them there. They weren't going to wait. It was all she had done for weeks. Besides, everyone knew how long the waits for ambulances were in the town. A fact she hadn't ever really thought about it until now.

Sheila answered the operator's questions as she got some of the few clothes that remained. Most of them had been destroyed in the kidnapping. Sheila knew that she had yet to even begin calculating the damage done. She hung up and dropped the phone, with a clatter, near its charger.

Joining her family in the bathroom, she watched Ira set Willow on the toilet and then turn the tub facet on. She set the clothes by the sink and grabbed the first aid kit from the mirror cabinet, opened it, then placed it by Ira's knees.

Willow wept, quiet, her head bowed, tangled hair hiding her face. She shook and her mutterings were too low to hear. Goosebumps covered the pale arms that she wrapped around herself.

Sheila's throat tightened and her eyes grew hot as she struggled to keep herself together.

Carefully taking her foot, he cleaned mud off the scratches and scrapes with a washcloth.

Every injury revealed tugged at her heart. Sheila crossed herself, instinct from her days as a catholic school girl, without thought.

He lifted her foot, examining the bottom, before he had to look away, grimacing. Taking tweezers out of the first-aid kit, he pulled a shard of glass from her foot. He stared at the shard before looking up at Sheila.

She knew from the shake of his shoulders that he was close to sobs. She hadn't seen him cry since his father died. Her eyes felt hotter, her throat tighter, and she tried to remain strong for her family. Sheila put her hand on his shoulder. "Get the car around. Let me finish." She helped him up and embraced him. Kissing him on the cheek, she smiled through her tears at him.

Ira nodded. "I'll get a bag for those clothes too. Willow, we're going to go to the hospital soon." He left, looking back as if he was afraid she would disappear.

Willow nodded, pushing her hair back as she straightened, wrapping her arms around herself. She made eye contact. There was a bleak flatness to her expression that chilled Sheila to the bone. Her baby looked so bloody and broken as her mouth curled in disbelief or dismay.

Sheila knelt by the tub and checked the water temperature before she rinsed the wash cloth off. She washed the last of the dirt off of Willow's right foot and then moved to the left one. She dropped the cloth in the tub without rinsing the last of the muck off before getting out alcohol wipes to sanitize the cuts. She bandaged her daughter's feet, wanting to bow her head over them and cry, but only smoothed the tape down. Sheila understood then that she was capable of killing another human being, because if she could have found the son of a bitch who had done this to her daughter right then, she stopped that train of thought. It didn't help. That wasn't what her daughter needed right now. She focused on her daughter's thin hoarse voice.

"I thought I'd never get home." Willow picked up a small dolphin figurine she had since she was small and looked at it as if it was a long lost trinket from an ancient past. Her eyes were unfocused. "I was so lost. I tried so hard to be brave and I never cried in front of him. That's what he wanted. My surrender." She screwed her eyes shut, but tears still escaped to roll down her cheeks. "Tried to be strong."

Sheila cleaned up the cut on Willow's forehead and put a band-aid on it. "You are brave. You're the strongest person I know."

Willow set the dolphin in her lap before she buried her face in her hands. "I'm..." She lurched forward. The figurine fell and crashed to the ground, breaking in two.

"Willow, honey, are you going to be sick?" Sheila asked, feeling like she just might, as she caught her and stood up them up.

"No, just fuzzy around the edges like novelty dice. I'm sleepy, but I know if I go to sleep, I'll wake up next to him and I'll still be there." She shook her head. "I don't know if I should be relieved or wary."

"No, you won't. You'll be safe with your mom and dad. He can't hurt you anymore." Sheila rubbed her back, biting her lip, pausing to calm herself. A sour feeling of horror kept growing in her stomach. "Okay, we'll get you to the hospital now."

"I can't wear this anymore, Mom. I want to burn it all." Willow pulled back. "I want to wear my own clothes. "

Sheila nodded, she would have been the first to burn them if they didn't need them for evidence. "Do you need help?"

"No, but could you get me slippers?" Willow's face twisted up into a cringe or smile, as she looked away, leaning onto the edge of the counter with a shaking arm. "I can feel my feet again."

Sheila backed out of the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack as she rushed to get her own slippers, since Willow's cow slippers had been ripped apart, and a sweater since it was cold out. She waited for minutes that felt like hours when she heard a thump. Whipping the door open, she dropped her armful, and tears flowed anew from her eyes when she saw her daughter curled up by the tub.

"Its all a game of Risk." She said in a dull murmur. Willow had changed into her clothes, leaving the other ones in a pile in the tub. She leaned back against the wall, looking away, her neck and shoulders bare except for the thin shirt straps. The dress's high neckline had hid even more marks and scars than Sheila had thought. "Don't think about it," she chanted, nails digging into her arms, as she hunched over. "Don'tthinkdon'tthinkdon'tthink."

"Honey, let me help you." Sheila reached for her and pulled her to her feet. All the soothing words she should have known and said had disappeared. Her PhD never prepared her for this or the pain that she felt gazing at her tormented daughter. She bent to get the sweater and assisted Willow in putting it on.

Willow slid her feet into the slippers, clinging to her mother.

Ira came back in with a plastic bag and put the dirty clothes in it.

Sheila half carried her down the stairs. "Come on, dear, once we're in the car, we'll call Nana O'Shea. She's been worried sick and lighting candles for you."

"Buffy first," Willow wheezed.

"Okay, we'll call her first," Sheila said as she got the silent girl out of the door and locked it after Ira walked out. Sheila couldn't help her stream of meaningless babble that went past the questions stuck in her throat.

Ira shielded them from the rain, umbrella in one hand and evidence bag in the other, as he followed behind them.

Willow didn't respond as she got herself into the backseat.

After they got into the car, Sheila handed her Ira's cellphone from the cup holder.

She took it, silence deep enough to hear her type in the number and the other phone ring. "Buffy, I'm going to the hospital. Tell Xander. Bye." Her voice was monotone, scratchy, and devoid of any emotion.

Ira looked at Sheila and she knew he was thinking the same thing. They had never heard her finish a phone call so quickly.

"Ah, damn it," Ira said, hitting the wheel, the slap overly loud in the car. "I forgot the overnight bag."

"We can get it later, honey." Sheila said, looking at her pale daughter through the passenger side mirror.

Willow didn't break from her catatonic silence through the car ride, check in with the receptionist, or changing into the hospital gown, until she was taken to an examining table where a nurse waited for her to perform a rape test. Willow had asked Sheila to wait with Ira then went silent again. After she was wheeled out of the room in a chair and taken to a private room, the nurse told them that there was no sign of sexual assault and that she was still a virgin, but a dehydrated and anemic one.

None of them had anything to say after that. Sheila and Ira sat, holding hands, by Willow's bed. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

Once settled into the hospital bed and given sedatives, Willow fell asleep.

That was when the cops had arrived.

"Hello Mr and Mrs. Rosenberg, I'm detective Ramirez and this is my partner Saunders." The uniformed man said flashing his badge. "Could we step outside and ask you two some questions?"

Sheila nodded and kissed her daughter's forehead before walking out with them. Ira put his arm around his wife when they got into the hallway.

"Has she said anything about her captors?"

"Not really." Sheila shook her head. "I think she's still in shock from it all."

"Here is the clothes she came home with. Back home there is a rag that we washed her feet off with that might have soil samples you need." Ira said, picking up the plastic bag, from the floor. "I need to get her an overnight bag. You could follow me there and I can give it to you."

"That would ideal." The detective took a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket and jotted down notes. "Saunders could drive you there and back now, if you would like, before taking it all to the station to be analyzed."

Ira nodded, pulled his wife in for a hug and followed the cop down the hall.

"Any details that you noticed or anything she said that might help identify the kidnapper?" Detective Ramirez asked, his dark eyes were kind, but his tone was crisp and businesslike.

"Her neck was bit. All over." Sheila touched her own throat. She could see Willow's bruises in her mind. "The dress that she came home in was tailored." Sobs broke from her. "My little girl. What happened to her?"

Detective Ramirez wrote another note. "Maybe we should ask her," he said gently.

000

Willow lay back on the flat hospital pillows, pretending to be asleep, trying to regain her sense of composure so she could tell the lie the gang had came up with for the police. She knew that if she began to cry again that she wouldn't be able to stop for while. Looking at the pain in her mother's eyes only made it worse. Willow opened her eyes when her mom walked back in with a police officer.

"Hello, Willow, I'm Detective Ramirez with the Sunnydale PD and I need to ask you some questions about the man who kidnapped you." Under his bushy eyebrows, his expression was serious. He jotted down notes without seeming to look down at his small beat-up pad.

Willow nodded, reaching for the water glass on the bedside table and taking a drink to give her more time to remember.

"Can you describe him at all?"

"I was blindfolded and kept in a dim, locked room a lot. I didn't see him clearly." Willow saw the suspicion flare on the cop's face and decided to change the plan. "He was a white man with sandy hair. I know he wore glasses. I remember him taking them off before he..." Willow looked down, crying despite her attempts at serenity, wanting to go home. "Before he did this." She pulled down the neck of her hospital gown and tugged the fresh bandage off her neck. "It hurt." She pointed at the scabbing bite mark. "I slapped him once and I felt his face..." She trailed off. "There was something wrong with it." Looking into the detective's face, she knew that he understood what she was talking about. It was better was lie with the ugly truth. "He was a monster, sir."

"I see. I think that will be all for today." He nodded to them as he closed his notepad and put it and the pen in his shirt pocket. "Thank you both for your help."

"That's it?" her mom asked. "My daughter was kidnapped and assaulted for weeks." Her face was red, eyes flinty, and her hands were on her hips. Willow hadn't seen her mother show this kind of emotion before. The distant and absent-minded academic aura was gone and Sheila Rosenberg was in full on mama bear mode.

"Ma'am, we'll send the clothes to the lab and follow leads, but we don't have any more questions for either of you at this moment. I'm sorry. Thank you for your cooperation. Good bye." He turned to walk away.

Her mother followed him out. "You've seen this before, haven't you?"

Willow heard her mom argue with the cops through the open door about police responsibility and social justice. She looked out the window at the parking garage until her mom came back and closed the door.

"What are you hiding?" Her mom asked, crossing her arms, serious concern on her tired face. "What won't you say?"

"What do you want me to say?" Willow forced herself into her pokerface and kept eye contact. It wasn't like she actual hid anything. Her parents were always too busy to see what she was doing openly. She had come home many nights, walking through the front door with demon ooze on her or at at four in the morning, and no one had cared. She hadn't had a nanny since she was fifteen so who would have seen the stakes she whittled on the back porch when she was bored? Her parents had been gone for every other life or death situation she faced on the hellmouth and she was beginning to wish they had been absent for this one too.

"The truth!" Sheila Rosenberg said in her stern nurturer voice that she liked to pull out when she bothered to parent.

Willow laughed, bitter and brief, before she replied, "Now you care about my life."

"That's not fair." Her mom looked as if she had been slapped.

"Mom, you're smart. Why don't you figure out the big secret of this town? Did you ever even notice how many people go missing or are found dead here?" She shook her head. "Can't you just be happy I survived?"

Her mother gasped and started to speak, but was interrupted when her dad walked in with a backpack in his hand.

"I got your overnight bag, sweetie."

0000000

Willow was happy when the sedative they gave her to help her sleep finally kicked in. When she awoke, needing the bathroom, it was the middle of the night. Her mother was asleep next to her on the bed and her dad was in a chair, head back, mouth open, as he snored. Walking into the hallway, she stopped, instinct freezing her movements despite the dreamy blur of the sedatives in her system. Willow peered down the dark hall and saw nothing. Wary, she stepped back, heart pounding in her ears before going into the bathroom across the hall and down three doors to do her business fast. She washed her hands asking if it was the drugs that was making her so nervous. She hoped it was the drugs.

 

She stepped out of the bathroom and stopped herself in mid-gasp when a shadowy figure emerged out of the gloom yards down the hallway.

"Franz," she whispered before letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, smiling from an odd relief.

"Hello, I see you escaped." He returned the smile with far more warmth than when he was on the clock under Angelus' command. Franz wore a casual cream business suit jacket over blue button-up shirt without a tie and jeans. He looked like an almost hip thirty-something professional out on the town.

It made her want to laugh to see him outside his butler clothes and severe part. He didn't look silly at all, but it brought home the fact that she had escaped. She wasn't stuck in that room anymore. Willow didn't think she could have dreamed him wearing that outfit. In a bizarre way, she was glad to see him even though the sensible part of her brain told her that she shouldn't be. She should be more scared, she realized in a detached way, but if he wanted to kill her or torture her that he wouldn't have waited for her to wake up. Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome, she thought as a dull numbness created by stress and drugs overtook her, it would explain a lot.

"I'm like a small, redheaded Houdini." She said, pretending that she wasn't in a hospital gown, with bruises and serious mental baggage. It was easy to pretend normalcy around Franz, even in the beginning, when she was asking what the rules were and thought that board game strategy could be applied to vampire society. He just seemed so civilized, but Willow knew that was only a veneer over his demon. She didn't think he'd hurt her though. Kill her, maybe, but not hurt her. That would have been a paradox to her before she became the unwilling Jane Goodall of the vampires.

"I'm glad to see it." His smile broadened, he reached into his suit jacket, and pulled out a business card. "I worried about you, but I can see that it was unfounded."

She took the card and grinned. "Oh, you big old worrywart."

"For certain people, yes, I'm afraid I am." He bowed. "If you require my services, call the number."

"I couldn't afford," she said as she studied at the elegant card. "It," she finished, looking up to see him gone. "Huh." She tapped the card against her palm. "Goodbye, Franz." Willow put the card in her bag before she went back to bed, secure in the knowledge that she would wake up there.

When she woke up, she would have sworn it had been a dream if she hadn't found the card in the morning.


	7. Home

 

Buffy slipped out of the house early in the morning, through her bedroom window, hours before the sun rose. She hadn't bothered with sleep instead she went from task to task quietly as possible as she waited for her mother to fall asleep. Buffy made a halfhearted attempt at an essay for English class before she organized her CDs and then cut out pictures from a magazine for an art class collage. Tori Amos and other morose singer-songwriters played softly in the background as she wasted time until she was sure her Mom was sleeping. Buffy wished she could have done the same, but there was no way that she could have done more than lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and berate herself. She felt too restless. It was like an itch deep under her skin and there was only one way to cure it.

Buffy spared a moment, to make sure her mini-back pack was closed and her stakes and diary were all there, before she sprinted down the street towards the nearest park. She tried to lose herself in the run as she tried to lose herself in busy work in her room. Buffy pumped her legs and arms, sweat beading on her brow, and ran as if she could escape the past. Operation Rescue Willow had bombed like a Madonna movie. She gritted her teeth as she remembered racing towards the back garden of Angel's mansion and finding only an open gate swinging in the breeze. Willow had saved herself in the end. Buffy saw her running away in the direction of her house as the rain fell in sheets over the town. There had been no sign of Penn besides his idling car behind the house in the alley. Buffy had only watched Willow escape for a moment before she went back into the house to help Angel with the rest of the vampires. She had never felt like such a failure outside of a French class before.

Buffy didn't slow her run, but she wanted to smack herself in the brain. All she had done since she had parted ways with Angel yesterday was think about how it all went wrong and how she could have done everything better from Angel to Willow to even being the Slayer. Slaying was supposed to be something that she was good at. Didn't she lay a major smackdown on the Master? Take on the Three? Stop evil fiends on a nightly basis? Maybe Kendra was right about her emotions getting in the way of her slaying. This was supposed to be her calling and it might as well have been the wrong number. Willow had escaped, but without much help from the heroes. Buffy bit back the tears, feeling so grateful that Willow found the strength to survive and so ashamed that it was her ex-boyfriend that her best friend had to escape from. Buffy knew that she should have been able to protect Willow.

Drawing even and steady breaths, she slowed to a jog, still faster than any on the track team, as she passed by the quiet ranch houses and darkened cookie cutter townhouses near the park. She could already sense the predators roaming the suburban jungle looking for vulnerable prey. In ways she could never explain to her friends, she felt anticipation for the hunt twist in her gut. It was simple. She slew and the darkness trembled. Hunt and slay. Simple as no white after labor day.

Not so much yesterday though.

Instinctively, she knew, like she knew her mother's face, that she should have staked the entire nest even Angel. It still hurt to think of staking him, but the side of her that was the slayer didn't care. Buffy was restless and she wished she didn't know why. She hunted today but there had been little slayage.

Buffy entered the park near the small patch of woods where teenagers liked to make out and smoke pot. Prime feeding ground. Her jog fell to a silent walk as she felt rather than saw the vampire who was closing in on a oblivious couple rounding home plate. The vampire was two times her size but he was young, hungry, and never heard her coming. She staked him quickly and moved on.

There were more in the park that she staked, silent as nighttime suburbia, without any of her usual gymnastics. Buffy slew four in thirty minutes but she was far from done.

She got to the Bronze only a little before last call as the stragglers waited for their friends or their cabs. She staked three vampires in and around the dark alleys near the club. Buffy got rougher with them. They didn't hear her approach but they felt her fists or were slammed against dirty brick walls before they went poof in a cloud of dust. She circled the area twice after the last vampire before she hit up the downtown where there were still UC Sunnydale students mingling in and around the all night diner. She fit in with the alternative college kids with her baggy pants and old black shirt, but she didn't go inside the diner to check for hell spawn. Angel had taken her there sometimes after patrolling. It hurt to think of the times they'd talk late at night as she drank a milkshake or chowed down on some fries and he sipped at a espresso. Buffy knew that it would never happen again.

Could never happen again.

Buffy started toying with the demons by the time she got to the Fish Tank for their illegally late closing. She let them have the illusion of escape before staking them in the front, eye to eye, so they knew exactly who was sending them to hell. Buffy had sunken deep into slayer mode before she got to the cemeteries around four when the monsters went back to their crypts. She taunted and quipped as she fought with increasing brutality. Dust caked her fingertips and her left palm had a major splinter in it by the time dawn lightened the horizon. It was only after the birds started chirping did she finally fall to her knees and rest. Surprised by the patch of woods she found herself in, Buffy looked around and realized she was just a little outside of the Restfield Cemetery. She felt numb as she pulled her mini backpack off and pulled out her diary. It had been weeks since she had made an entry but she had known that she had to write. Buffy didn't feel restless anymore only tired, but she knew that she couldn't sneak home yet.

“I officially, completely, and determinately broke up with Angel,” Buffy wrote after she jotted down the date. “I haven't written in weeks because it had all been too much...”

000

Angel felt like a wraith as he came back into the mansion, trapped because of the daylight, with only other ghosts of the past to haunt him. The efforts of the night before had borne little fruit. He tried to remember that Willow had been freed and his soul returned so, in the end, it was a victory. It felt more Pyrrhic than anything else. He walked up the stairs, running a hand up the rail, looking over the antechamber at the house that he had built and swore to destroy.

Angel sat down on the top stair with a thud before hunching over, elbows on his knees, thumbs and index fingers connected in a triangle before him. The loss of his soul was even more unsettling when he was alone in his shell of a house. Angel had thought deeply on his curse with a soul and otherwise. He had never quite understood the nature of it. It never made sense to him until he had watched Buffy walk away and leave him alone with only the sound of the rain for company. It seemed as if every woman in his life had walked away from him. With very good reason, he had to admit. Drusilla, more correctly, twirled like a ballerina before driving away with Spike in his beat up De Soto while Willow ran out the back door. Three strikes, he thought with a sigh, I'm out. If only he had found the right words before she left.

Buffy had came in, frowning, hair plastered to her head by the rain. Defeat lingered in her expression. Her mascara smudged eyes met his. She was without Willow. “She's gone home.” She didn't elaborate as she stared away from him with a trembling bottom lip. In the dimming room, shadows covered her face.

He wished he hadn't caused the raw pain that darkened the light in her eyes.

The rain and wind howled louder outside.

“I felt Penn die, was it...?” He didn't finish as she turned her hazel gaze on him.

“Not me.” Buffy shook her head and half turned. “Giles. I should find him.”

“Wait,” Angel began before his words dried up. “We need to talk,” he finished feeling like a fool.

She looked back at him with steely look. “About what, Angel?” There was the sort of anger in her eyes that only came from love gone wrong. “The fact that after I lost my virginity to you, you turned evil? Kidnapped Willow? Or maybe that you stalked me and left creep o'grams on my pillow?” She wrapped her arms around herself and backed away as she continued much quieter than before. “Should we talk about how I loved you with all my heart and then you ripped it out?”

Angel couldn't speak and only nodded as he wished he could take his eyes away from the beautiful slayer. She stated the truth as only she could. He couldn't argue with her interpretation of the past events. He could see all the suffering in her eyes and he remembered how Angelus strove to cultivate her pain which only made it harder because he had never wanted to hurt her. Angel would have given his life to take it all back. Buffy had done nothing but love him, a monster who tried so hard to be a man, despite her calling. She had given him a reason to live and to fight and he gave her torment in return. If he could have spoken, he would have been groveling for forgiveness.

She took a deep breath and her eyes darted away from his as she seemed to search for her next words. Licking her lips, she continued. “Do you even know what you would say about your heartbreaking and homicidal turn to the dark side?”

“I-” Angel began before he shook his head. Maybe if he started brainstorming right now, he would be able to come up with something decent by next Tuesday. “I don't know where or how to begin to-”

“Just stop, please.” She shook her head. “I already know you are sorry and that you would move heaven and earth to take it all back or make amends.” Tears glistened in her eyes and she closed them, looking down, before she shook her head. “I just can't hear you say it. I have to finish cutting you out of my heart.”

She had left then, collecting her ax and little red umbrella, sparing him one crumpled and melancholy glance behind her as she left.

Angel didn't follow her to the door instead staggered to the only chair left in the room. He understood the power of the gypsy curse now. They didn't just curse the vampire but the man as well. It was his life as Liam that provided the inspiration and motivation for his depravity as Angelus. If any mortals understood the supernatural and the ways of the undead, it was the Roma and they knew what the Watchers would always deny-- vampires are more like their human counterpart than either vampires or humans would like.

Hours went by as the storm raged outside and Angel brooded within.

Angel finally closed the front door before going out to the back yard as the sun set wetly in the west. Ignoring the rain, he skirted around a gritty splotch of wet dust. The sight of it made him feel the weight of all his years and he could feel himself buckling under the pressure. He couldn't help but wonder how Willow had killed Penn. She had saved her life, Angel knew, Penn would have ripped her to pieces. He walked out into the alley driveway then turned off Penn's car before searching through the dashboard compartment. Between the various paperwork and manuals, he touched something metallic and pulled it out. It was a startlingly familiar pocket watch. He dropped it as if it was a crucifix before he put it in his pocket. Angel resolutely did not focus on the old, long buried memories it conjured up. He sat down in the driver's seat and knew if he went back into the mansion he would lose himself in guilt. Angel started up the car again before heading towards Willy's Place. He had failed both Buffy and Willow today, but he couldn't continue too. Angel had to clean up his mess. Spike had taken out all of the major vampires in Sunnydale and Angelus had made sure that the rest showed the proper respect to his clan. Without either, there would be a power vacuum that would attract more than a few demonic scumbags to the Hellmouth if he didn't step up to show that he still had control of the town even with his soul.

Angel parked the car around the back of the bar before heading inside through the back. He ignored the yells of Willy's waitress and strode into the bar with his head high. He grabbed Willy by the back of his neck and pulled him over the bar. “Spike, you hear about him 0r Sam Lawson, you tell me.” He let the human drop.

Willy fell onto the stools with a curse. “Fine, Angelus, whatever you say.”

“That goes for everyone.” Angel didn't correct the bartender on his name before he left the way he came.

Throughout the night, he stopped at demon hotspots to pick fights and question about the whereabouts of his childer. Dawn chased him back to the last place he wanted to be.

He felt weary to his centuries old bones as he sat at the top of the stair, looking over the ruins of Angelus' kingdom, and he knew that it would take longer to rebuilt his life than he had taken to destroy it.

000

Willow's palms began to sweat when she walked to the front door of her house feeling like more of a spazoid than usual. Maybe her dad should have taken her somewhere besides the Espresso Pump to let her mom have time to prepare for her not-so-secret welcome home party. She had spotted Cordelia's car parked across the street so she knew her friends were behind the door already. It had been so long since she had seen them that she didn't know what to say. 'Whose been playing at the Bronze since I've been gone?' 'Pick up my homework?' 'Hey, Buffy, how ya doing? Oh, with me, you know, the usual, just emerging in a tortured saga with your Jekyll and Hyde ex-boyfriend and his cadre of vampires.' She wiped her hands on her jeans, following her dad inside with a deep breath, as she wondered if she was ready.

Buffy, Xander, Amy, and Cordelia waited in the living room and got to their feet when she walked in.

She locked eyes with Xander and he gave her that goofy grin that she couldn't help but return. Willow knew she shouldn't have been worried. Just seeing all her friends put a smile on her face. It almost hurt her cheeks to smile a genuine grin. She ran to Xander and threw her arms around him. Hiding her damp eyes on his shoulder, she murmured. “I missed you so much.”

He smelled like Old Spice, Mountain Dew, and other Xander-y smells and she didn't know if she could let go. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I missed you too, Will.” His voice was a watery rumble.

She pulled back, wiping her eyes as she smiled at her friends. This was what she had needed. Willow had been so lonely in that tiny blue room. She kept a hold of Xander's arm as she drew Buffy in for a hug. She hugged Amy next. “Hey, guys,” Willow said as she pulled back after hugging Cordelia.

Amy spoke first. “Your Mom laid down the law and said you needed more rest so we don't have too long, but I figured that we'd have enough time for a brownie.” She turned around to the coffee table where to pick up a small plate with a brownie with M&amp;Ms on top. “Its your favorite kind! Our Secret Chocolate on Chocolate brownies.”

Willow took the plate, feeling her throat tighten with the good kind of tears, with shaking hands. “Thanks, Amy. Remember how we used to make these all the time before Boy Meets World came on when your mom did Tupperware parties?”

Amy laughed. “Ryder Strong – be still my heart.”

“Yeah, he's a dreamboat.” Xander rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, you loved secret brownie night, Xander.” Amy said.

Willow took a bite of the brownie with her eyes closed as she listened to her friends banter back and forth. This was better than she imagined when she thought about returning home.

“He does love cookies and Bollywood night a lot too.” Buffy added.

 

“I've tested it. His heart is directly connected to his stomach.” Cordelia said with a shrug.

Xander pulled her in for a side hug. “What can I say? Baked goods and my favorite girls. Its a winning combination.”

 

She leaned her head on his shoulder and smiled at them all. Willow could almost forget the last month with Xander's arm around her and her friends at her side. Almost.

0000

She hadn't protested when her mom told her she would be going to Dr. Stevenson. Willow hadn't said much to her since she had been back. She didn't want to say much that wasn't negative to her Mom so she kept her mouth shut as much as she could. Maybe it was irrational but Willow found her mother's new found attentiveness more infuriating than comforting, which made her feel guilty which then in turn it made her even more angry for being guilty.

It was easier to be around her dad, he didn't ask her much, he just wanted to keep her in sight it seemed. For the last four days since she had come home, she been watching classic movies with her dad on the sofa or watching TV with Buffy and Xander. Mostly she had kept to the sofa and had even fallen asleep there a few nights. She still wasn't comfortable in her room.

Willow hadn't been surprised by her mother's idea, only that it had taken her so long. Stung by the guilt, she just let herself be led. They didn't talk in the car or the clinic's waiting room. She let her mom fill out the forms as she zoned out with an open tabloid in her hands.

000

Dr. Stevenson looked over her bifocals at Willow. A middle aged black woman with a face more kind than beautiful, she was a good friend of Willow's mother and one of the best at counseling trauma victims.

Willow should have been able to talk to her.

They had been staring at each other for fifteen minutes in silence. Willow kept her arms crossed and refused to give into temptation. It didn't matter that Dr. Stevenson was funny and that her mom was paying good money for the session. Willow wished she could open her heart, hug the doctor, and cry it out but the doctor would listen to her tale of vampires and monsters then declare her crazy. Willow had been stuck in a nut house long enough to know that she didn't want to be in another one.

Dr. Stevenson set down her notepad and took off her horn-rimmed glasses. “Are we going to sit here in silence for an hour?”

“I don't want too.” Willow fidgeted and pushed her sleeves up. The turtleneck she wore smothered her despite the air conditioning. She wanted to take it off and just wear the blue spaghetti strap shirt underneath. But, the bites...

“Since we're not going to talk about your past month of captivity, lets talk fashion. Why are you wearing a turtleneck?” The doctor asked briskly.

Willow frowned and pushed her sleeves down again.

“If you don't want to talk to me then I'll talk to you.” Dr. Stevenson smiled, her plain face becoming pretty from the warmth of it, as she wiped her glasses with the hem of her blue blouse.

“I know that my mom told you everything.” Willow tried to keep the crankiness out of her tone. She had been quick to anger with her mother since she had gotten back. It used to be easy to bite her tongue and put on a smile, but now she had to fight not to snap at her.

“She told me what she knows.”

“Yeah, and what she knows about me could fill up a post-it note.” Willow scoffed. “I get kidnapped and now she gives a darn.” She shook her head, anger bringing heat to her cheeks. She couldn't help but remember how her mother never made it to any of her science fairs even when she had won first place. Willow pulled her turtleneck off. “This is why I'm wearing this when its eighty degrees outside.” Willow didn't realize she was crying until the hot tears fell onto her clavicle. “This is the only reason my parents took time out of their busty schedules for me.” She huffed out a bitter mockery of a laugh as she gestured to her to bite marks and bandage. “It still took them days to come home.” Willow's expression felt too tight as she grimaced, trying to compose herself. She looked down from the doctor's understanding brown eyes and saw her scarred and scabbed chest. Shame hit her, chilling her as if she had swallowed a ice cube. She picked up the rumpled turtleneck and began to pull it on. “I shouldn't say that, I love my parents.”

“Of course you do.” Dr. Stevenson put back on her glasses. “Those are bite marks, aren't they?”

Willow wiped her eyes with her palms. “I can't do this.” She got up and scurried to the door. “I'm not crazy.” She turned to face the doctor, to clarify her statement, because at times she wasn't sure. “At least I wasn't before.”

“I know.” Dr. Stevenson stood. “You don't have to leave.”

“What can I tell you?” Willow shook her head. “I was kidnapped by monsters and kept as a snack? That I spent a month straight up terrified that I'd be raped or killed or both? Or that I was kept in a tiny room and didn't know if I'd ever leave?” Willow threw her arms up, getting deep into the rant. “Or how about, in the end, I was alone? Hell, in the beginning, I was alone.” She scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand. She leaned against the door. “Are you happy now? She bowed her head. “Can't you tell my mom that I had a break through and don't have to come anymore?”

“It takes time, honey.”

“I don't want it to take time.” Willow slid down and landed on her butt. “I want my life back. I want to be Willow-y again.” She looked at the doctor, walking towards her. “I look in the mirror and I don't see me.” Willow flinched at the doctor's soft touch on her shoulder.

Dr. Stevenson looked at her with a sad, serious expression.

“I want to be Willow again.” Willow looked away, wondering if the doctor was thinking of her as child when they had first met at her fifth birthday. Dr. Stevenson had given her a puzzle of a herd of dinosaurs. Willow didn't remember her mother there, but she clearly remembered their stout housekeeper at the time, Lupita, cutting the chocolate cake and wishing her a happy birthday. She returned the doctor's gaze with a frown. “Sometimes.”


	8. Strained Normalcy

Chapter 23: Strained Normalcy

The weekend after her escape passed by without excitement. Willow usually woke up on the living room sofa to the sound of her father making omelets or hash browns in the kitchen while classic rock softly played on the radio. They'd eat, Willow doing her best to not snap at her mother, before Willow and her dad would go to the video store and get old black and white movies. Her friends would stop by, with gossip and snacks, in the afternoon just in time for TRL. Sometimes they'd stay for dinner. It was all fine and dandy though there were moments when she look at her loved ones and wonder if the gap between them would ever close. It wasn't awkward, but she knew that no one knew what to say to her at times. Couldn't blame them, Willow didn't know what to say to herself either. It made for strained relations with her brain.

 

It was with this in mind that she decided that she couldn't live in her pajamas forever.

 

Willow hesitated to knock on her dad's cracked-open office door on Sunday. It had been wonderful hanging out at home, but she was getting cabin fever. Willow had spent enough time cooped up in a house. She wanted her life back to normal. It was easier to forget the last month and the cravings when she was busy. Willow needed to go back to school, she knew her dad wouldn't be a fan of that. She had come home different and she knew that this experience had changed him too. Willow got serious wiggins when he showed her where his gun was and how to load bullets in it. There was something more Rambo than mild-mannered scholar in his eyes when he explained where the safety was and how to turn it off. They didn't talk about it but she knew that he felt like a failure as a father.

 

"You can come in," her dad said.

 

She pushed open the door. "Heard me, huh?" She smiled.

 

"What's up, kiddo?" He turned around in his chair to look at her. A word processor program was up on his computer monitor. His massive desk took up the whole corner with its levels of shelves and drawers that were taken up by research books and photos of the family. The office was almost the same as before except for the empty gun rack on the wall.

 

She took a deep breath. "Well, I was hoping to go back to school."

 

"Oh," he said, pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses. "So soon? You've only been back since Tuesday."

 

"I have to go sometime." She shrugged with a small smile. Hellmouth High wasn't her favorite place but she couldn't hide out on her couch with Bette Davis, Fred Astaire, and Shirley Temple forever.

 

He nodded, frowning as he thought. "Why don't we make a compromise." He opened a drawer in his desk and rifled through it. Her dad pulled out two glossy brochures. "You can go back to school, but how about you go to the range with me sometimes and attend a self-defense class once a week?" He lifted his hands up holding the brochures parallel to each other. "I know you weren't excited about the gun and its clear that you can take care of yourself, but it would make your old man feel better."

 

Willow didn't need to think about it. In her lonely blue room at the mansion, she had often thought about how to get some Slayer moves. She refused to be a damsel anymore. Willow should have learned how to fight long before. "I think you're right." She sat on a stool by his chair. "I felt so helpless and I never want to feel that way anymore." Her voice sounded fervent and intense even to her own ears.

 

Her dad pulled her into a hug. "You're not helpless. You're a survivor just like the rest of the Rosenbergs. I'll sign you up."

 

"Sounds super, Dad." She squeezed him before going off to call Buffy. Maybe they could get coffee before class. Willow wanted to go back to as regular a life a teenage girl could get on the hellmouth.

 

Ooo

Willow ignored the glances that followed her down the hall, to her locker, and then into her first class. The teacher gave her a hug, but mercifully didn't make a fuss over her. More than a few people had quietly pulled her aside and told her how happy they were to see her. So many disappeared at the school that everyone had lost someone at some point. One only had to look at the yearbook's obituary section to know that. Willow was one of the few to come back. The scoobies often laughed at the famed Sunnydale amnesia, but she wasn't sure if everyone forgot. Her scarf didn't cover the marks completely and she could see some of her classmates look at them with an less than ignorant expression.

 

Willow took notes and answered a question, but she paid half a mind to the lesson. She was in her usual seat, she had her usual trapper keeper, and she was wearing one of the few outfits that survived her abduction, but it all felt off.

 

Willow had never looked forward to her free second period more. Leaving the classroom, her feet refused to go towards the library, she walked out into the courtyard after a moment of hesitation. Willow just couldn't be inside for another second. She wandered to the far edge of the campus, near the student parking lot, and sat under a tree. Willow tipped her face up enjoying the breeze. It was hard to believe that the mouth of hell waited underneath the small town on a beautiful day like this.

 

"Hey, Willow," Oz said, walking from the parking lot, smiling.

 

"Hey." She waved. "How are you doing?"

 

"The usual." He walked off the sidewalk and sat down next to her. "You?"

 

"Good all considered." Willow shrugged, staring out into the distance, a faint sound reached her ears like the scrape of metal on metal. "Its nice to see you again."

 

Oz smiled before he looked out in the parking lot. "Hear that?"

 

Willow stood to see what the ruckus was and the ruckus looked right at her. "Yeah, and now I see it too."

 

A grey reptilian demon, more like a komodo dragon on its hind legs than a snake, with slits for eyes and pebbled skin that seemed designed to blend into the high desert landscape, stared into her eyes as it raised an amulet. Two of its friends climbed out of a manhole in the middle of the parking lot after it. The demon with the amulet pointed at Willow and said "Witch." It hissed and flicked its tongue. "Wolfman," it said before yelling something in a hissing demon language.

 

She shared a glance with Oz before they bolted back to campus. Looking behind her, she saw them give chase before turning around. Willow and Oz didn't stop until they arrived, huffing from sprinting, in the library.

 

"Giles!" Willow shrieked.

 

"In the office with Principal Synder," Giles said, emphasis on the principal's name, as he stepped into the threshold of the office door.

 

"Is librarianship different in England?" Synder asked, tone dripping with acidic contempt. "This isn't the courtyard. No yelling."

 

Giles rolled his eyes up. "I'm certain there is a good reason."

 

Giles and Synder turned with expect expressions on their faces.

 

"Um, well," she began slowly before blurting out. "I saw freshmen smoking funny cigars in the parking lot." The silent library, unlike her house, still felt the same and she couldn't help but calm down as she ran with her lie. She leaned forward and said in a hushed and shocked voice, "It didn't smell like tobacco."

 

"I think it was the wacky tobaccy, sir," Oz said, monotone with a twinkle in his steady gaze.

 

"Not on my watch," Synder said, pushing passed Oz and Willow.

 

The three waited until the grouchy principal was gone.

 

"Three demons," Willow said. "One had a simple wood amulet that he was waving around. With a glowing ruby in it." She couldn't help but wish that her first return to the library could have been under less demonic circumstances.

 

"They came up from the sewer like they were looking for something," Oz said.

 

"They only said, 'witch' and 'wolfman', in English and the rest was in a snake-y demon language."

 

Oz looked at Willow, concern clear on his neutral face, before he said to Giles, "they pointed at Willow first as if the amulet had brought them to her."

 

Giles furrowed his brow at that before he went into his office to get a small leather notebook. "Tell me everything from the beginning with better description of the creature."

 

When they had finished and the third period bell rang, Willow found that she wasn't even surprised that her first day back included an encounter with the lizard king. Some things would never change.

 

ooo

 

Willow thought she would love how attentive her parents had been since she returned, but all the board games, crafts, and constant interest in her activities was driving her crazy. She waved off an attempt to lure her into family fun when she came home from school. Stomping up the stairs, she berated herself for snapping at her dad when he had been so cheerful as he held up "Risk" and asked if she wanted to take on her old man. Willow hadn't played it cool at all when she saw the game, remembering the first dark days of her captivity and how naïve she had been.

 

She sighed as she reached her room and went in. She'd gotten used to the oddly sparse room that was once her domain. It would never be the sanctuary it had been, but it gave her privacy from her parent's good cheer.

 

Willow ignored the sharp craving that seemed to affect her head to toe. It felt like every cell yearned for something that still grossed her out when she thought about it too long. Setting her bag down on the bed, she decided that she needed to get out of her funk and concentrate on anything else.

 

She picked up a spell book, covered with a geometry textbook dust jacket, from her shelf. It had survived the kidnapping unlike so many of her books. A cord of anger went through her, those books had been like friends for so much of her lonely adolescence, and they were destroyed in an evening.

 

Stupid Angel and his yummy blood, she thought, as she clutched her stomach, a hunger pang ran through her unlike any she had experienced before she drank his blood. She almost dropped the book. Shuffling to her balcony door, she tried to clear her mind of stray thoughts, concentrating on only the intensity of her emotions as she walked out and sat down. There were three shiny artificial pebbles, that had been in her fish tank before it had been broken, lined up on the bottom rung of the rail. She had a small routine that she did before studying magic. It reminded her that this wasn't all useless fluff-- she had the power.

 

Murmuring the words to her favorite spell, she focused on lifting the one in the middle. They all shined, blue-purple, in the Californian sun. She channeled all her rage, confusion, and frustration, visualing it flowing out of her body like the book told her.

 

Nothing happened. The spark she had touched to make her escape eluded her. She frowned before re-reading the directions and trying again. A chill went up her spine as she prayed that she hadn't lost her magic.

 

A craving wracked her, she doubled over, feeling lightheaded. All day long it had only gotten worse. It had been hard to think of anything else but cool, thick blood...

 

Cringing, she shut the magic book and stood up. Thoughts of blood, drinking from Angel with his chest pressed against her back, and the red hot daze that following feeding, bombarded her. Willow took a deep breath and counted to ten before she walked inside and put the book back on the shelf. It had almost been a week since she had fed off Angel. Just thinking about it made her body ache in ways she couldn't describe to Giles. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she flopped back on the bed in the middle of her room.

 

Sighing, she got up and sat at her desk where math worksheets awaited her. The soothing toil of academia would take her mind off her troubles, she told herself with false cheer. Her desk was oddly empty on top with most of her knickknacks destroyed and the rest placed in the desk by her mother. She kept forgetting where her pencils were and had to dig around the drawers to find them before she began. She worked steadily through a week's worth of math before she lost focus and stared into space thinking bloody thoughts.

 

Willow touched the mark on her throat.

 

Someone knocked softly on her door. "Willow?" It was her father.

 

"Come on in." She said. "I'm just going through a pile of Trig."

 

"Sounds tricky," he said as his eyes were drawn to the open balcony before he strode over to it and closed the door. "I'm making homemade pizza."

 

"Yay." Willow smiled for her Dad's sake. "Do you mind driving me to the school library?" Her smile faltered. "I just can't concentrate."

 

"How late is it open?"

 

"Midterms are coming up so its open until nine all March long." She sighed. "Midterms, ugh."

 

"You'll do fine. I'll drive you to the library after dinner." He patted her on the shoulder. "Need any help in the mean time?"

 

"Maybe a change of scenery would be good." Willow picked up two worksheets and got up as she grinned. "I can supervise your pizza making. We wouldn't want a repeat of last Saint Patrick's day and the boiled dinner fire."

 

Her dad laughed. "I blame your mother's crockpot."

 

Willow giggled and followed him down the stairs where they pretended everything was alright and that they were a happy family.

 

The nightmares of blood and strong arms holding her as fangs pierced her throat felt more real than family dinner, the car ride to school, and her dad's cheerful conversation as they walked into the library. She shivered from the memories. Concentration was futile when her whole body trembled at the thought of giving in and asking Giles to make the call.

 

Once her Dad had left after talking to Xander, Willow walked to Giles in the stacks and murmured the words she had been avoiding for days. "I need Angel."

 

She looked away from his concerned gaze and went back to finish the homework she brought while she waited for Angel. Puzzling through math was better than listening to Xander at that moment.

 

"Xander, we shall begin the rituals tomorrow," Giles snapped. "How many times can I tell you that Jenny has preparations to do tonight? In any case, you should go home and rest up. I believe you mentioned an early chemistry test."

 

"Oh, no, I'm not leaving if the unholy dead is going to be within a hundred yards of Willow," Xander declared.

 

Angel cleared his throat as he walked down the stairs from the upper stacks which had an exit closest to the nearest underground tunnel. Dressed somber as a funeral, he looked over them with an expression of restrained depression.

 

She couldn't help but imagine him bleeding.

 

"Speak of the devil himself." Xander said as he stood up at Angel's entrance. He put his hands in his baggy corduroy pant pockets and leaned back on his heels with a smirk that was more like a snarl. "We were just talking about you. All bad, of course. What'cha been up too?" He crossed his arms over his striped shirt. "Besides all the kidnapping and the killing."

 

"Good evening," Giles said, with more disdain and hate in packed into two words than in all Xander's sentences combined, pulling a small cross out of his gray tweed jacket pocket.

 

"Can't we skip the menacing small talk?" Willow asked, standing up, trying not to stare at Angel. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her self, the swirl of emotions that ripped through her were as tiring as the testosterone display before her. "You guys can do that later." She finished, quieter, not meeting any of their eyes, wishing they would stop looking at her. She felt like an after school anti-drug special with her legs shaking in anticipation of her next hit of that red stuff. Willow wondered if Angel thought about it as much as she did and sneaked a peek at him.

 

He nodded as he stepped closer to the group while still keeping his distance from her. His gaze was downcast, but she made contact with him as he looked at her from the corner of his eye. Guilt filled his expression.

 

"Ah, yes, then let us go to the work room," Giles said chagrined as he led them to his small, tidy office.

 

"Not you, Xander," Willow said as she kept behind Giles. "I don't want you to see... You ought to study."

 

Xander snorted and glared at Angel, but backed up. "I understand, Will, now I'll go try to understand chemistry."

 

The part of her that was lost to the craving wished she could order Giles away and finish what she and Angel had started in the mansion.

 

0000

 

Angel was glad that his duster had such deep pockets so he could keep his clenched fists hidden. He had barely heard Xander's comment over the sound of Willow's rapid heartbeat. Angel couldn't find the gall to be angry at the boy's words or Giles's contempt, he expected much worse and the bulk of his attention had been focused on Willow in any case. He could tell she struggled to remain calm. It had been six days and eight hours since she had been fed last. Her will was a marvel. She must have been ravenous. He forced himself not to follow that train of thought.

 

Willow's gaze lingered on him once they settled into Giles' office. The watcher and she stood on the other side of his desk. She looked as if she wanted to eat him alive.

 

Alone in the empty mansion, Angel had done little but think about Willow, Buffy, and what to say to either. None of those well-thought out and polished sentences came to his mind with her eyes boring a hole in his neck. Guilt hung around his shoulders as heavy as a anchor.

 

Giles cleared his throat. "I suppose we should begin."

 

Angel pushed his sleeve up when Willow's quiet words stopped him.

 

"We should use a cup." She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes. Those green depth glimmered with warning and he knew she was thinking of the last time. She had drunk from him with abandon, her hot hands gripping his forearm closer, and he knew it would be worse this time. Or better, his mind thought, traitorously.

 

"She's right," Giles said, eye darting between the two, as he picked up a yellow mug from his shelf. Handing it to the vampire, he settled into his desk chair. "Proceed."

 

Willow gulped as she angled away from the watcher and focused on Angel.

 

He cut his wrist with a flick of his fingernail and let the blood drip into the 'kiss the librarian' mug.

 

Willow's breath deepened. He handed her the cup when it was a third full. She grabbed it, with both hands and gulped it down, struggling to maintain her composure. Panting, she thrust it back at Angel.

 

He was taken back by her wild eyes and his reaction to her. They both wanted more. Angel knew he'd never regain his redemption if he kept thinking this way.

 

"Thanks," she said, quick and high pitched.

 

"I should go then," Angel murmured, clutching the mug awkwardly, before he set it down on Giles's desk next to a crystal orb paperweight. The cut on his wrist had already healed.

 

"That would be for the best," Giles said. "Oh, but it would be appreciated if you hear about Chloriani demons or their nest to pass the information along."

 

"This far from Utah?" Angel asked, wondering why the spirit suckers would travel this far west.

 

"Unusual, but they were on campus. Willow saw them with the werewolf boy, Oz."

 

"Oz is a werewolf?" Willow asked at the same time Angel asked, "They were after Willow?" His eyes went instinctively to where his claiming mark was covered by her shirt.

 

"No." Willow huffed. "I just saw them." She crossed her arms, the hunger dimming from her face.

 

"We have yet to determine that." Giles leaned back in his chair. "It is something of a mystery. They wouldn't leave the Great Colony except under duress."

 

"They're lackies, maybe. Someone might be looking to fill the power vacuum." Angel shook his head. "The mayor won't take kindly to another warlock in town, but if its a vampire..." He stopped his musings. "I'll look into it."

 

"What? The mayor is a warlock?" Giles sqawked.

 

"And, Oz is a werewolf," Willow said in disbelief. "How random. Is the bakery going to be run by leprechauns next?"

 

"He founded the town for demons," Angel said, confused. Didn't everyone know that the mayor and his cohorts keep the town's secret under wraps? It took an elaborate conspiracy to keep the wider world unaware of the daily mayhem in Sunnydale. "Also, leprechauns don't exisit."

 

Giles nodded, grim expression on his face. "It does make sense. What else have you learned about the underground?"

 

Willow snuck out of the library office once Giles began to talk shop. She grabbed her math worksheets and settled down to kill time until she could call her dad to get her. The math problems swam in front of her eyes as she tried to concentrate. She felt as hyped up as if she had drank a couple of espressos and gone on patrol with Buffy. Willow tried to ignore Angel's exit but she couldn't stop from watching him leave.

 

Xander was even less easy to ignore especially his loud conversation with Giles.

 

As she listen to Xander and Giles talk about her as if she wasn't there, Willow stared at her pencil. That elusive spark, the kernel of magic within, called to her like an itch under the skin. Murmuring the words to the telekinesis spell with the intent to raise the pencil, it shot straight up and shattered against the ceiling, raining down shards of yellow #2 pencil.

 

"What was that?" Giles asked from inside his office.

 

Willow jumped back in her chair, mouth agape, as her eyes darted from the pencil mess to the office. Chilled, she told herself that correlation didn't mean causation. "Nothing."  



	9. Souls & Survivors

Chapter 24: Souls &amp; Survivors

 

Waking up in a cold sweat and with heat between her legs, Willow panted as she sat up and leaned back on her palms to look at her digital clock. It read 5:08 AM. She rolled out of bed on shaking legs before walking to the bathroom to splash water on her face. Her room was stuffy and her pajamas felt too warm and tight. She had no idea why she woke up. All was quiet in her house. Willow felt drawn to the balcony, walking to the doors and opening them to the chilly predawn air.

She would have thought she'd have nightmares when she was stuck in the mansion, not after she left. If she was honest with herself, some weren't clear cut nightmares, she enjoyed them until she woke up. Then they terrified her. Were they because of the Lingering Kiss? Giles was researching but he had been more concerned about how to cure it then its symptoms. Every Dracula movie she ever saw rolled through her mind and she could imagine herself as Lucy, drawn to death, without any control.

The cool breeze wafted over her as she tried to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she gripped the rail with one hand as the other touched the bandage on her neck. Goosebumps rose up on her skin and she told herself it was from the cold. Leaning over the rail, she looked out into the sleepy street with a sigh. There was no sign that the hellmouth lurked beneath them. The sun would be up soon. She was watching an alley cat dart across the street when she saw him.

Head down and hands in his pockets, he stalked down the middle of the street.

She knew without seeing his face that it was Angel. She sucked in a deep breath.

He looked up and their eyes locked. Angel paused, startled before nodding, and continued quicker down the road.

She backed away and closed the balcony doors. Her heart raced and her breath shortened even as she tried to control herself. Looking around her alien room, all she could see was what had been there before and how Angelus must have looked as he destroyed her room. She could see the books being knocked off the shelves, the mobile ripped down, and the aquarium cracked and flooding out onto the floor. The fish flopped and suffocated slowly in her imagination. Willow felt like she couldn't breathe. The room felt too small and too barren. Everything that made the room hers was gone. She might as well not have even lived there at all. Willow couldn't stay a second longer. Her mind kept flashing back to her cell of a room in the mansion. Sweat rolled down her sides under her nightgown. It was like all the fear that had been suppressed by her blood craving came back magnified.

Leaving the room, she tried to be quiet as she walked down the stairs to the living room. She had to be far as she could from her room at the moment. Her mother had told her about the ruined things that they had kept in the garage. It was what was left of her old life and she had to see if any of it could be salvaged. She needed to hold tangible evidence that all wasn't lost.

Willow thought of poor dumb Lucy going outside to visit Dracula and she cringed as she stepped out into the cool air of the garage. She told herself that she wasn't under mind control, but she kept her back to the garage door and forced herself to focus on the trash bags that held the tatters of her life.

Her mother found her thirty minutes later holding onto the shreds of what used to be a floppy purple hat.

Willow wiped at her eyes and asked, “Why did he hate my hats so much?”

000

Willow had a mission when she walked into Ms. Calendar's classroom long before the bell rang. After the fear had subsided, the anger returned, slow and simmering, as she got ready for school. Even looking through her diminished closet made her scowl. Willow's wardrobe had been decimated and all the bare clothes hangers dangling on the pole only reminded her that her personal sanctum had been violated. It wasn't enough to torment her, Angelus had to torture her sweaters too. She wanted to smack herself when the tears popped out as she put on her only surviving polo shirt. Angel had only nodded and she almost had a panic attack. Then a tendril of suspicion wound around her psyche as she worried about what other effects the Lingering Kiss might have. Shame, fear, and frustration fueled her volatile emotions so she was stomping by the time she arrived at the classroom.

Ms. Calendar, sitting at her desk, leather jacket thrown on the back of the chair, looked up with a smile. “Oh, Willow,” she faltered, seeing Willow's expression and continued in a more concerned voice, “what's up?”

“I need you to teach me.” Willow didn't know what to do with her hands so she tugged on her backpack straps. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked away. “Magic.” Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. “I need to know.”

Ms. Calendar stood up and put a friendly hand on Willow's shoulder. Her dark eyes were filled with sympathy. “Are you sure that you don't want to talk?”

Willow raised an eyebrow. If she wanted to talk, she'd talk to Dr. Stevenson or Buffy. What she needed from the teacher was much more important than any talk about her feelings. “Yeah, I do.” She crossed her arms. “About magic. Someone needs to teach me control. How to use my power.” She frowned and sighed. “And, not my sacred, female fertility, feminism, moon-based whatever power. I already hear enough about that from my mom.”

“What brings this up?” Ms. Calendar sat on the edge of her desk.

“The wacky notion that I live on the hellmouth.” Willow shot her a disbelieving look before she turned her graze to a mug near the desktop PC. It was filled with pencils, pens, and a pair of scissors. She had figured that she'd get the run around but today, Willow Rosenberg, she told herself, no one would put baby in the corner, quoting the last movie she had saw with Buffy and Xander.

Ms. Calendar searched her face before she shrugged. “Well, before we talk about channeling the mystical forces, I need to know your expectations.”

Allowing the orange-handled scissors to take all her focus, Willow concentrated on one spell. “I don't need a Yoda. Just a nudge in the right direction.”

The scissors rose up.

Ms. Calendar followed Willow's gaze to the scissors and gasped.

Willow sent the scissors rocketed into the wall where it bounced off and hit the floor with a clatter that echoed throughout the room. “I don't want to take a wrong turn at Albuquerque.”

Mouth open, Ms. Calendar looked at Willow in shock before she put her hand to her forehead. “Okay. Meet me in the teacher's parking lot after school then.”

“Hey, Ms. C., I had a question about Excel.” Amy asked, sheepish grin on her face, from the open door.

Willow nodded to the teacher before she escaped the room with a quick greeting to Amy. Just knowing that soon she would being learning from a real witch made her chest seem less tight. The walls were scooting back. She could breath again. Willow didn't quite smile but she wasn't frowning.

000

Under the streets of Sunnydale, deep in the tunnels, Angel stalked in the shadows, avoiding the light patches that pierced through the gutters. His footsteps were silent and ponderous without even drawing the attention of the rats, beady eyes reflecting the dim light, that scurried in the gloom. All his senses were spread out despite his fatigue. The night had been long as he patrolled the streets and the morning longer still in his bed as his brain fought sleep with the memory of fear on Willow's face as she stood on her balcony. Her rapid heartbeat still echoed in his ears. It only made him hit the demon underbelly of Sunnydale harder.

Keeping himself out all night, Angel dropped in on nest after nest in the many tombs and warehouses scattered across the town. He took great pains to ensure that there were no survivors. Loose lips could sink ships and vampires were a chatty bunch. Angel wanted the demons to think he was Angelus still. Most demons looked down on vampires but they did eavesdrop on them. He didn't need any two-bit hell spawn thinking about moving in on his territory after hearing that he was souled again. Buffy was too emotional drained to handle another big threat. He was barely holding it together. All in all, the white hats needed a break even if he wasn't going to allow himself the same luxury.

Voices echoed through the tunnel. Classic southern California tones of surfer apathy hit his ear.

“Those lizard dicks were totally bogus,” said a vampire up ahead.

“Seriously. That was our haunt. Prime cemetery locale and all the hot and cold running blood we could want only steps away. Didn't even need a car. Totally green living and those douche canoes ruined it,” A caucasian vampire with a backwards hat replied.

“Bogus, man, with a capital B.”

Angel rushed to a stop right behind the two. “Hey, fellas.” He clamped them on the shoulder and squeezed. “What's the problem?”

“Angelus!” One gasped.

Angel's mouth curved into something more deadly than a smile as he slammed the two vampires into each other. Their heads thumped together. “Maybe I can help.”

“Demons kicked us out of Restfield,” The other stuttered.

Angel let go long enough to whip out his stake and kill the one with the baseball hat on.

The other one turned to flee but tripped as Angel leaped on his back.

“We're not done talking.” Angel took a hold of the vampire's arms and put a knee into the small of its back as he pinned the other vampire down. “Take it from the top.”

000

Willow stepped down the concrete stairs to the basement level magic store behind Ms. Calendar with a smile on her face. She had been waiting for this all day. In chemistry, she imagined she had a cauldron instead of a Bunsen burner while in math, she doodled runes in the margins of her paper. At lunch, she had called her dad from the school office to tell him she would be staying late after school.

Now she was like a witch in a magic store.

Ms. Calendar had asked her gentle but prodding questions about her magic and when her powers developed. She had answered truthfully even if she had to stutter out the honest answer instead of the lies that crowded to the front of her mind. When she mentioned lifting the pencils into the library ceiling, they shared a look that made her stomach churn because she knew that Ms. Calendar was thinking about. Blood; rich, centuries old vampire blood; Willow had drank Angel's blood down like it was Ovaltine. The words weren't said but they lingered, silent, in the air.

It was only with the scent of sage and patchouli in her nose that Willow shrugged off the awkwardness. Ms. Calendar might as well have led her into a whole new world. Willow's eyes darted around as she took in the sight of the herbs, jars, and magic objects that lined the walls and covered the small table in the cramped store. There were books too. Her fingers itched to touch the leather covers while her nose wanted to breathe in that old book smell.

Ms. Calendar nodded at the storekeeper before she smiled at Willow. “Calm down. Its not Disneyworld.” She led Willow to a rack of drying herbs. “Before you learn anything about magic, you gotta know the right tools for the job. This is sage and this is sweet grass.” Pointing a lime green fingernail at each leafy bundle, Ms. Calendar recited their name and urged Willow to sniff it. “The wrong herb can ruin an otherwise flawless ritual or do even worse damage. I don't expect you to know every herb but try to learn a new one everyday and make sure you know the old standbys in the dark.”

Willow brought a bundle to her face. “Lavender.”

“Yup. And, it does more than smell good.” Ms. Calendar turned to look at a table cluttered with statuettes and mystical do-dads. “Herbs aren't the only components to your ritual. Much like the Rolling Stones, magic requires four elements to be represented and channeled. Instead of Mick, you have...” Her voice slowed as her eyes swept over the display. “Huh.” She looked over to the store owner. “What happened to that big jar filled with essence of monkshood and the statue of Gurija the Avenger? You didn't sell it together, did you?”

“Yeah, to that Willy guy, who owns the bar on Main. Don't worry, the guy has about as much magical ability as my broomstick.” The chubby store owner flapped his hand dismissively.

Ms. Calendar snorted. “Another thing to know Willow is that certain spells require certain specific things.” She turned around to look at Willow. “Let me pick you out a book and then lets go back to the school so your dad can pick you up. Oh, and another thing, don't buy any book written by Silver Ravenwolf. You want to be a witch not a fluffy bunny Wiccan.”

000

Buffy jazzercised in the middle of the library with her head phones on. Pumping her legs and arms, she bounced to the beat until she noticed Willow and Ms. Undercover (Calendar was so not her real name) walk into the library. She tore off her headphones and waved. “Hey, Will.” She said shortly to Ms. Calendar, “hi.”

“Hi, Buffy.” Ms. Calendar smiled before she walked into Giles' office.

“What's the sitch, Buff? What'cha doing?” Willow looked over at the CD case on the long library table.

“Getting the old heart rate up.” Buffy smiled before a thought crossed her face. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that Oz invited you to see him play at the Bronze tonight.”

“Did you let him go alone?” Willow tilted her head. Thinking about the the soul sucking demons that she saw in the parking lot, she couldn't help but worry about the way the demons honed in on Oz first. Ms. Calendar had filled her in on her suspicions about the magical ingredients sold at the magic shop. Apparently monkshood and Gurija the Avenger were the cornerstone of soul suckage.

“Last time I checked I didn't give birth to him so yeah.” Buffy shrugged. “He's with Devon. Not like in that way, but,” she paused with an intrigued smile, “you never know with those two.”

“And now you're jazzercising? Why?” Willow didn't mean to get shrill with Buffy, but she'd hate to see Oz get his soul sucked out. Ms. Calendar was darkly vague about the process and it didn't sound like a cakewalk.

“Love handles?” Buffy replied as she set the portable CD player down and returned to stepping on her block. “Why the why?”

“Oh, dear.” Giles popped his head out of his office. “Buffy, where is Oz?”

Willow and Buffy locked eyes.

“We have a problem.” Angel said softly as he appeared out of the top stacks.

Willow inhaled and backed away at the sound of Angel's voice. Without looking away from the large vampire, she angled to have Buffy between them. Her heart sped up. She forced herself to breath evenly and kept telling herself that it was just Angel, Buffy's angsty star-crossed boyfriend, and he had a soul. A part of her told her to flee while a quiet voice whispered about the dark virtues of his blood, Willow tried to hold it together.

“Okay, I guess I'm bronzing it tonight.” Buffy looked down on her exercise clothes. “At least I'm dressed for slaying.”

“You'll have to get to him immediately. Magick of the darkest order could put us all at risk.” Giles raised a stained spellbook. “The entire population of Utah may depend on you.”

Buffy sighed as she went to the book cage where there were weapons stashed in the back. “Way to put the pressure on. I'll head to the Bronze now.”

“I'll drive you,” Ms. Calendar volunteered.

“I come bearing diet-breaking donuts and Ulgar's Demon Compendium,” Xander called out as he walked backwards in the library, his arms full, to open the doors before turning around. “What in the jelly-filled hell is going on?

“Quite.” Giles nodded as he looked around the suddenly crowded library. “Angel, what is it?”

“The soul suckers have taken over a tomb in Restfield cemetery and it looks like they have Willy running errands for them. They're up to something.” Angel put his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the Scoobies. “I came only when I was certain.”

Giles looked to Ms. Calendar. “Its as we suspected. Buffy will collect Oz from the Bronze and we will then proceed with more research on this ritual. It requires a mystical creature drawn to the moon and Oz, unfortunately fits the bill.”

“Thanks for that, Angel,” Xander said with exaggerated and mocking politeness. “I guess its time you go hit the bloody trails then. Maybe make like a leaf and get out of here.”

Buffy coughed, glanced at Willow and mouthed, 'I'm sorry' before she stepped from the book cage with an axe. “I don't think that is a good idea. Angel, would you lurk around school just in case the demons come back? I don't want to be lured away for a trap and have the whole gang take the fall.” She whirled around and pointed the axe at Xander. “No complaining either.”

Angel nodded after he saw Giles' silently agree.

“Good.” Buffy gestured to Ms. Calendar and the two left the room.

Angel finally made eye contact with Willow.

She bit her lip and wished she could look away but she felt frozen. There was nothing threatening in his gaze and he looked like the somber vampire she knew before. It didn't stop her moods from swinging around.

Xander's eyes darted between Angel and Willow. He set the book and donut box on the table with a thump.

It woke Willow from her stupor and she jumped. She felt transparent under Xander's gaze and looked down at the linoleum. Thinking back on all the herbs she learned about today, she tried to control herself.

Waving his hand, Xander scowled at Angel. “Could you lurk somewhere else?”

Angel nodded before he turned and disappeared into the book stacks.

Willow found her knees trembling as she sat at the long library table and accepted half a bear claw from Xander. She smiled up at him between bites. “Let me see what Ulgar says about soul suckers.” She pulled the musty tome towards her before she impulsively took Xander's hand and squeezed. “Thanks for the bear claw.” They both knew she meant something else.

 

000

 

Buffy heard the sounds of a struggle before they pulled into the parking lot behind the Bronze. She hopped out of the car before it came to a stop.

The doors to Oz's zebra-striped van were thrown open. Two demons fought Oz and the Dingo's drummer as Devon lay on the ground near the stairs leading to the Bronze's back door. Night had fell and the street lamp flickered. An unfamilar van puttered in park.

Buffy ran through the parking lot, breathing evenly through her nose, with the axe in hand.

A demon knocked the drummer down and then with its partner, pulled Oz into the waiting dark van, before jumping in.

Cursing, Buffy ran faster to the other band members.

The drummer looked out cold while Devon kept mumbling about the Lizard King and what a mistake dropping three tabs of acid was.

Buffy yelled at him to get help before returning to Ms. Calendar's VW bug. “Follow them!” She bit at her polished nails as she mentally flogged herself. She just didn't want to lose a friend tonight.


	10. Lacuna

Chapter 25: Lacuna

Giles and Willow huddled over an long scroll, rolled out on the library table, as Giles read the words and Willow took notes. Xander sat nearby in front of the library computer as he researched. All stole glances at the clock. Willow couldn't help but find her mind wandering to Oz and hoping that they hadn't killed him yet. She knew he was scared and Willow felt so useless as she simply jotted down Giles' dictations. Time seemed to speed ahead even as the work inched along in its tedium. This must have been what the gang had lived with for weeks when she was in the mansion. Looking at the rings under Giles' eyes, Willow patted him on the shoulder and murmured, "We'll get him back" and smiled. It wasn't the happiest smile but Giles returned it.

"Waning moon, rhapsody of twilight, stir the cauldron trice. Gurija awakes and the hellmouth belches forth diabolical power before the blood of a wolf-were is sacrificed to Hecate and the night. Behold the avenger of the colony and the devourer of souls." Giles moped his brow with a handkerchief. "Honestly, the melodrama of wizards."

"If I have my Old Tyme English right, I think we can't just kill these guys." Willow paused from her note taking and frowned. "We have to stop this avenger guy too."

Xander looked up from his volume. "Sounds like a job for Iron Man." He snorted, smirking, before he said, "I think found the binding spell that Ms. Calendar told you about. Your search terms were on the nose, Sherlock Rosenberg." The printer started up with a whirl.

Willow noticed Angel slink into the stacks before Buffy charged into the library with Ms. Calendar in tow. Her breath hitched as she made herself look to Buffy. Angel made no indication that he noticed her and she couldn't help but be both relieved and annoyed. She didn't know what she wanted from him, but would it kill him to ask about how she was doing? Though, it was easier to act like he wasn't there, all looming and dark with his handsome face, tortured yet calm, and focused on the slayer. It reminded her of Angel before his turn to the dark side. Then Xander started in on the death glares and Giles gave Angel the hairy eyeball and the illusion was ruined. The library had gotten so much more awkward since she had come back.

"They have Oz in the cemetery," Buffy called out as she grabbed her sword from the book cage. "We need to roll out."

"What about the ritual?" Giles asked, straightened his posture, and pushed his glasses up from their precarious perch on the tip of his nose.

"Already begun." Ms. Calendar shrugged, winded from keeping up with Buffy, and pushed her wind-mussed hair back from her brow with a sigh. "We gotta get our supplies ready and perform the binding."

"Its a good thing that Giles keeps the mug-wort next to his tea stash then." Xander nodded to the computer as he pulled the printed pages from the machine. "Got the magic wammy right here."

Ms. Calendar strode towards him and took the sheet, scanning them, before frowning. "I'd forgotten how much power this would take. I'm going to need both Willow and Giles for this." She smirked. "Well, I guess you're going to learn how to cast a circle tonight, Willow. I'll get stuff from my classroom. We have to be nearby the demons for it to work, F.Y.I." She rush out, heeled boots clicking on the floor, with purpose.

Giles and Buffy looked at each other before Giles spoke, wariness in his tone, "We should send Buffy to distract them so we can set up our binding."

"Its going to take more than me to distract them." Buffy said, stepping to him, sword in hand.

Giles clenched his teeth before nodding as he reached in his pocket for his key ring. "Angel, would you drive Buffy in my car and we'll meet you both at cemetery?"

Angel strode down the steps and stopped a few feet from Buffy, scanning her expression, before he nodded and took the keys. There was much more in his expression than Willow could understand. Buffy was even more inscrutable but some how the two seemed to come to an agreement. They were alone in the world with each other in that moment.

Willow looked away, feeling like she was eavesdropping, at Xander.

"I'm going," Xander piped up as he pulled a stake out of his pocket. "You'll need someone to get Oz away from the fray." There was no hint of bitterness or jealousy about Angel only concern and logic in his tone.

Willow smiled. It was nice to see Xander without anger on his features.

Buffy nodded. "Thanks, Xan. Lets go then."

The mismatched heroes walked out, Xander close to Buffy while Angel kept his distance, out of the library.

Ms. Calendar passed them in the door way, carrying a box, and jerked her head back at the departing trio. "They're all going in one car together? Five bucks to Buffy threatening to kick Xander out on the curb."

Willow and Giles looked at each other with a shrug before they split up to get the last of the ritual ingredients. Walking to her book bag to fetch her own crystal, Willow hoped that those three could behave. She didn't envy Buffy being stuck with Xander and Angel in a tiny slow car. Thank goodness she was going in the more peaceful and mature car.

000

Silence loomed, thick as fog in the tiny Citroen, while Angel drove to the cemetery despite the smooth jazz crackling from the ancient speakers. Static saxophones did little to lift the mood. The car could only pick up mariachi music and easy listening. Angel's fingers itched to shut off the radio completely. Buffy sat in the front while Xander sat in the back. The boy's disdain for Angel was palpable. Keeping his eyes on the road, the vampire's knuckles were white on the wheel. He couldn't wait to be distracted by demons. Giles' car moved more like a slug and Angel frowned at the speedometer, wondering if they had overloaded the car. He promised himself to get a car, with some style, space for at least six people, and something he could take the top off of. Angel had to slump over the wheel in the tiny vehicle.

Buffy's eyes darted between the two men. She was visibly trying to contain herself before giving up. Angel could read the signs when Buffy had enough. "Tension filled car is full of tension."

"Understatement," Angel muttered under his breath.

"What ever do you mean?" Xander asked dryly as he put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his seat, putting a khaki-clad ankle on his other knee. "Nothing awkward about a pleasant drive to rescue a captive werewolf with a kidnapper."

"Do you have to keep this up? Angel wasn't himself then." Buffy shook her head.

It was what she had to believe, he knew, to be able to spare him. Angel focused on the yellow line of the road. He knew that deep down she realized that while he wasn't in control of himself, it was all him. The darkness in Angelus had been born of Liam as had the good in Angel. In the end, they were only names for one being.

"Why do we have to rush to forgive him? Have you noticed what he did to Willow? He might not have been in control at the time, but it doesn't make it better for Willow or any of the people that he killed." All pretenses of casualness were lost as Xander tossed up his hands.

"No, it doesn't," Angel said quietly, meeting Buffy's eyes as they paused at a stop sign.

Buffy frowned and looked at Angel. Her compassionate eyes scanned his face. The romance might have been gone but the connection was still there. Angel hoped that they could find their way to friendship.

"Sorry to talk about you like you're not there." She shrugged as she turned around in her seat. "Xander, you might not understand why I'm giving Angel my forgiveness, but its for the same reason that I didn't blame you for hyena!Xander. Have some sympathy, Angel has to remember all his horrible deeds. Be grateful that you don't remember eating the school mascot."

"Most of us have a beast inside, Xander." Angel fixed a disbelieving look at the boy in the rear view mirror. Horseshit. Animal possession didn't cause memory loss. Buffy hinted about Xander's wild pack before and Angel knew for damn sure that the kid remembered it.

Xander met his gaze and squirmed in his seat.

They stopped speaking after that.

000

By the glow of the passing street lamps, Willow worked on mixing herbs together with a mortar and pestle. She kept her head bent to her task as she tried to ignore all but the spell. Laid out on the seat next to her, propped up on a box of crystals and magic paraphernalia, was a copy of the spell and she tried to mix and memorize at the same time. The task was harder than it should have been.

Jenny wrote out the incantation in runes on a parchment, Giles drove the small VW Bug, but it didn't stop either from bickering since they left the school. Peaceful and mature car, her behind.

"Rupert, she has to be trained," Jenny said, shaking her head. "Its two parts mugwort, Willow, don't forget."

"Isn't seventeen a tad young to be trained in witchcraft?" Giles added, racing a yellow light, driving across a street. "Make sure you are stirring counterclockwise too."

"Coming from you, that's ridiculous. Want her to learn on the streets of the hellmouth?" There are people who wouldn't hesitate to use her." Jenny's hands wrote steady and clear on her scroll covered clipboard. "Now add the sea shell bits, okay?"

"No, but is it wise to lead her in that direction when she has so much potential in the mundane world? Now of all times, isn't the moment to train her given her emotional state."

Willow made herself ignore them as much as she could.

"Do we live on the doormat of hell or not, Giles?" Jenny then blew on her wet ink as she dipped her pen into the inkwell placed in the cup holder. "When is it ever going to be stable for these kids? You can't just introduce them to darkness and not prepare them for it."

Willow had to bite her lip to keep from commenting. Very un-Willow-y words were coming to mind and she had force herself to keep her focus. Would it kill them to talk to her instead of about her?

Giles turned into the cemetery and up the small road towards the mausoleum where the demons were holed up. The trees seemed lank in the gloom and not even a gentle breeze stirred the leaves. Everything was still but the fight up ahead.

"Don't forget the crystals or the herbs," Jenny warned as they packed and piled out.

Willow didn't say anything as she grabbed the box and got out of the car. They had no time for mistakes or arguments.

Buffy and Angel fought the reptilian creatures, now bedecked in moss and blood, outside the tomb. Xander crept along the side towards the back. Light spilled from the open door. Oz lay chained and thrashing on a sarcophagus. A shadow seemed to unfurl inside the mausoleum. The crackle of magic lingered in the air. There wasn't a moment to waste.

"Welcome to the party, guys," Buffy called out.

The three mages rushed to the nearest tree and sat down. Giles rolled out the runic scroll. Willow set out the crystals on top of it. Jenny walked around her and Giles, to pour out the herbs and enclose them in a circle. Without words, they took their places around the crystals.

Jenny smiled. "Time for some down and dirty spellcraft."

Taking each others hands, they chanted off the copy of the spell that Giles had laid out in front of them.

They hadn't gone unnoticed by the soul suckers who moved closer to the circle as one.

Xander took that as his opportunity and ran into the mausoleum.

Buffy caught a demon in the chest with her sword before kicking one in the shin and slamming her elbow into its face. She chopped off its head before she stiffened as shadows grew in the tomb. "Protect them, Angel." Buffy charged inside.

Angel moved closer, back to them, as he guarded them. He gave Willow a single look before turning his attention back to the demon that had just knocked an ax from his hand.

Willow tried to ignore the fight and concentrate on the words. A tingle spread though her arms like the moment before your foot went asleep. Her breath deepened as sparks tinged her vision. Around all of them were sparks of every color. Jenny was surrounded by electric purple and Giles had a dark green aura. Willow's breath caught as she saw the dark flecks in the blue aura around her hand. Sound faded even as the chant grew more forceful. She yelled to be heard.

A soul sucker broke away from the scuffle, blood drying on its flanks, muscles rippling in the moonlight, to charge at her.

She couldn't stop chanting even if she wanted too. Her eyes widened as she felt the tips of its scaly fingers on her face. Willow's heart skipped a beat.

Angel came up behind it and snapped its neck.

She locked eyes with Angel as the world spun and dimmed.

000

As soon as Angel had the car parked and turned off, he jumped out with his fists up and ready for the first demon. He made quick work of look-out demon #1 with a sucker punch to the jaw and stake to the heart. The demon didn't disintegrate like a vampire, but it died never the less. More demons poured out of the tomb including a elder, shrunken and leaning on a long ax. Angel zeroed in on him, fighting his way over, knowing that it must be the head priest of the ritual. It was hard to hold a sacrifice without a preaching oldster and Angel wasn't going to make it easy on these soul suckers. With a kick to its stomach, he grabbed the ax and slashed the priest across the middle. Angel turned around and blocked a blow from a younger demon.

The computer teacher's car pulled up, blinding him with its light, before the witches got out and rushed to set up their spell.

Buffy more than held her own even as she yelled out a cheerful greeting to her friends.

Angel fought the demons, two on one and then three on one, making sure that he never stopped. Raising his arms to block a kick or throwing a punch, he kept his body in deadly motion. He wanted all the attention on him to keep the demons from noticing the witches or Xander. Like they were attached to a hive mind, these demons worked as one. He needed to use that against them.

Buffy's ponytail bounced as she broke a demon's shin with a single kick before she paused to assess the growing danger in the tomb. Gurija was rising even if Oz hadn't been bled out yet.

Angel let himself be distracted as he looked back at Willow and the chanting teachers. A demon managed to kick his weapon from his hand even as Buffy told him to protect her friends.

The demon broke past his guard.

Cursing himself, he launched himself after it. His vision went red as he saw it touch Willow's face. He reached for the demon's neck and felt the scales for a moment before the visions rose to his mind.

Like the bottom of a deep lake, the vision seemed to glimmer darkly. There were two Willows that shimmered in the gloom. One, clad in sundress with a cheerful strawberry pattern, stood under a moonlit willow tree with her hand outstretched. A deer heart lay bloody in her palm. Her smile unfurled like a gash, teeth red, and eyes growing black. The other cried tears of blood that dripped onto her white nightgown. Her heart shined in her chest and it was full of the goodness. He saw into her soul when he looked into her red-rimmed eyes and had to look away when the visions within the visions became too intense. Angel looked to where Spike and Drusilla kissed at their feet before the scene changed to show Lawson.

He stood before four strangers (human but for one green demon), bound and gagged, who raised themselves on their tip-toes as piano wire dug into their necks. Darla ran in between the humans in danger, in modern dress, with fear in her expression and a beating heart in her chest. He followed her to see fire fall from the sky as he stood on a roof. The fiery scene melted. He ran through the rain with a baby in his arms and Cordelia Chase behind him. Jenny and Giles rode pass on a motorcycle. Fading to Willow and Angel, seemingly naked under burgundy sheets, curled up together with pensive faces in a dark room, the scene changed to a kneeling Willow, eyes full of tears, who was raised to her feet by Franz in the grinning visage of a demon. More and more visions appeared in his mind until he could absorb no more.

Angel gasped as the world returned in vivid technicolor and surround sound. He backed away and threw himself into the fray with only one question in mind, 'what the hell?'

ooo

Willow could hear her voice as a whisper but she was no longer in her body.

Rising above the cemetery where the Scoobies fought for their lives, she sped like a rocket to the high desert, across cities and countryside. Willow zoomed over rock formations the color of burnt umber to a pit in the ground that looked like a gaping maw. Reptilian demons scurried in and out of it like drone ants. A shimmering ray connected the hole to points beyond the western horizon and she knew she had to break it. Reaching with her mind, she grabbed it and tugged as vertigo overwhelmed her. Flashing images assaulted her mind, but she refused to let go. This was just to distract her. Suddenly, she wasn't in the desert, but she could still feel the psychic cord.

She saw Angel's soul. Like through a dirty window, she saw his light in the darkness and all that he had been. Violent and twisted visions of the past merged with future heroics in a moment before other images crowded to the fore. She saw a younger Ms. Calendar sitting on the back of a pick up truck in the middle of a caravan of motor coaches and banged up vehicles then Giles, shirtless and in the seventies, dancing like a witch with a handsome young man. More and more fantastical sights came to mind as if she were Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

Out of place and time, she saw herself, older and with a short curly do, floating, eyes black, as magic cracked from her fingertips. Daggers rose and launched themselves before she disappeared and reappeared in a dim high rise apartment with wide windows that exposed a lit up city. The glass shattered and she felt herself fall before landing in a box with a small barred window. She was gone again only to see many serious and seriously pale people sit along a long table with Franz at the head. The imaged shifted to show herself running through an alley. The Willow in the vision looked back, face ridged like a vampire, with a hiss.

Willow forced herself to focus as the link slipped in her grip. Gathering her strength, she yanked the cord and found herself looking at the desert colony again. The demons stood still, heads up, as they screamed. Many voices became one as she gave a last tug and felt the psychic link give way.

Flopping over onto the cool grass, Willow knew she was in her body again. The jagged edge of a crystal pressed against her cheek before she rolled over to see Jenny and Giles collapsed as well. Willow looked over to see Angel and Buffy fighting a large tri-horned demon as Xander and Oz huddled nearby.

Buffy spun and leaped, in move that blended dance and martial arts, she chopped off the demon's head. Buffy raced over to Oz and Xander before the head even hit the ground with a thud.

Willow tried to stand but she fell to her knees.

Looming like shadow, Angel followed her to the ground and grabbed her by the shoulders. Concern furrowed his brow.

Willow smiled at him, still dizzy and exhilarated by the spell. "I saw you. You saved me." She wondered what his aura looked like and she reached out before her vision swam and her mind went blank.

000

Angel had to drive Giles home from the cemetery. The ride had been mercifully quiet as the watcher slumped over in the front seat more in a daze than awake. The spell must have took a lot out of him. Angel couldn't help but think that the spell had taken a lot out of himself as well and he had only gotten a taste of it. He couldn't imagine what the direct effect must have been like. The image of Willow with the horrible red smile stuck with him as much as the one who cried blood. Angel couldn't help but be grateful that the ride was short and soon enough he was at Giles' door with the watcher leaning on him.

Giles unlocked the door and waved him in. "Have a drink with me, Angel." He closed the door before he went to his liquor cabinet, pulled out two small glasses, and poured whiskey into both. "Now that the children aren't present and I have your attention, we need to have a long overdue chat." He handed the vampire a glass and met his gaze. "They are, you know, children. How ever they may fight, they are so young." Giles' lined and tired gaze didn't break contact with Angel's.

Angel nodded and sipped the aged liquor.

The watcher was deadly serious. "I will stake you if you step a toe out of line." Giles took a drink, swaying on his feet despite his stern expression. "Willow may not blame you for any wrong doing, but we both know better. Now, with the Lingering Kiss in the equation, the issue becomes murkier."

"I would never-" Angel began.

"Perhaps not, but your soul appears to be weakest around school girls." Giles took another sip. "Willow and Buffy have suffered enough." He looked at the clock.

"I understand." Angel drained the whiskey down and headed for the door. He would have guessed that the watcher would be the one to take him to task despite Xander's bluster.

"Oh, I don't believe I need to tell you that you aren't welcome in this town anymore. Your help tonight was appreciated but its time you moved on." Giles poured himself another drink with a trembling hand. "We'll let you know when you're needed to leave Willow some blood."

Angel nodded. This banishment wasn't a surprise and he agreed with the watcher. He had done enough here. There was so much that he needed to atone for but he couldn't do it where the memories made him falter and brood. Sunnydale had a protector and he only made her weaker. He knew where he would go.

000

Willow must have passed out because she woke up on Buffy's couch with dry mouth and Ms. Calendar holding her hand. "What happened?" It seemed too bright in the living room.

"You did good, kid. Let me take you home." The teacher said, eyes focused on Willow's face, serious expression on. "We better go before Buffy's mom comes back, Buffy's trying to stall her now." Ms. Calendar stood up and helped Willow to her feet. "You slept longer than we thought."

Willow nodded and leaned on Ms. Calendar out to the car. Neither spoke, the tension mounted and Willow didn't know why. Memories from her vision and dreams were coming back but she waited until they were driving before she asked, "Did you see anything during the spell?"

Ms. Calendar frowned, shadows crossed her face, and paused before she answered, "Yes, I did. You?" There was a note of worry in her voice.

"It was all so fast I don't even really know, if I know, you know?" Willow wrapped her arms around herself. "I saw something that scared me."

Ms. Calendar nodded. She didn't look at Willow as she turned into the Rosenberg's driveway.

"But, I guess it doesn't mean much, just some demon tricks." Willow shrugged, willing herself to believe it. After what she had seen, she never wanted to be a vampire, immortality be damned. Then there were those black eyes...

"Yeah, demon tricks," Ms. Calendar echoed without the confidence that Willow had been hoping for.

Willow said her goodbyes and stepped out. She couldn't help but hear what Ms. Calendar said next even as she walked to her door.

The teacher waved before she picked up the cellphone and called Giles. "We need to talk about Willow."


	11. Final Chapter

Final Chapter = Porphyria's Awakening

The next day found Willow sitting on a bench under a tree in the school's court yard, trying to read but only the memories of the ritual from the night before penetrated her brain. Many of the visions were to distract her, but she had seen into Giles and Ms. Calendar's souls. That couldn't be disputed even if she wanted it to be since that meant that they had saw into hers. For a moment, she had looked into Angel's soul. She had even dreamed about it. Angelus and Angel had been two sides of a complex coin and she had been a poker player eager to beat the house. When she woke up, she could still imagine the echoes of past that had barreled through her like a freight train.

A shadow passed over her book and she looked up to see Oz. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

Oz had a black eye and bandages around his wrists. His stoic eyes were warm as he looked at her. A small smile lingered on his thin lips. "Good. You? I saw Angel carry you to the car."

"Oh, I'm fine. Just woke up hungry." She smiled. "Wasn't anything that a batch of smiley faced pancakes couldn't cure."

He nodded and looked over at the horizon. "I owe you one."

Willow frowned, squinting as she studied Oz's freshly dyed green hair. There wasn't a hint of natural color around his hair line and the coverage was even. "You do that yourself?"

Oz nodded.

"Could you do me a favor them?" Willow asked as she visualized hair colors. "Meet me tonight at my house around six thirty."

000

After school, Willow walked into her Mom's office in the attic with a question on her lips that died as she looked over her mother's shoulder to see what she was surfing on the internet- The Sunnydale Herald's obituary section. Xeroxed newspaper articles cluttered the normally tidy desk. Willow saw the headline of one that mentioned 'neck rupture.' "Hey, mom..."

Her mother jumped in her seat, reading glasses almost falling off her nose, as she turned around. "Oh, Willow, you scared me. What are you doing home?"

"School's over?" Willow said with a smile. "What are you working on?" She leaned over to get a better look.

Gathering up the papers, her mother shook her head. "Oh, just a project."

"Is this is a real estate brochure?" Willow reached for a glossy pamphlet but her mom covered it with the stack of papers.

"Project." She said shortly. "Did you want something?"

Willow nodded, putting aside her curiosity, before saying, "I'm having a friend come over for a bit after dinner. We'll be hanging out back."

"Sounds lovely. Its good you're socializing again." Her mother smiled but her eyes drifted back to her computer screen. "Mommy still has to work though."

"Okay." Willow left with the hopes that her mom's project kept her occupied while Oz was here. Her Dad said something about a lecture at the local college so maybe she would have a night without bingo or charades or big fake smiles. A night for herself.

ooo

The moon hung full and low over them as Willow and Oz were sitting on the steps of the back deck that took up most of the Rosenberg's small suburban yard. Willow wore an old stained shirt as the dye set. A chemical smell stung the air. A lull in the conversation brought up an odd Oz-ian tension.

"Why brunette?" He asked as he looked ahead into the gloom.

She felt her throat tighten when the memory of Angelus twirling a strand of her hair around his finger came to mind. They had been laying in the bed together as he recited dark poetry. She could hear his words as if he was murmuring them all over again, 'You have beautiful hair. So red and long. Don't change it.' She sighed. "I didn't have much luck as a redhead maybe I might as a brunette." Without looking at him, she asked, "why green?"

He smiled. "Why not?"

"You're a good guy, Oz." Willow said, elbows on her knees, chin in her clasped hands. "Its too bad that we never got to really hang before."

"I know." There were volumes hidden in his words and she knew then that he had liked her. Maybe more than liked her, but there was nothing they could do about that now. Too much had changed.

The wind whipped through the trees as the egg timer between them went off with a buzz and chime.

They looked at each before Oz stood up, discomfort on his face, putting his hands in his pockets. "You ought to rinse that out and put the conditioner in. I had better go."

She nodded before thanking him and leading him to the door with a single goodbye.

When she showered, she thought of his honest face and good intentions and felt herself fill with useless wishes.

It was all for nothing in the end, she thought as she changed in her barren bedroom. She could remember the day they moved to Sunnydale when she was five to get out of their small Los Angeles apartment. Willow had ran inside, ahead of her parents, and up the stairs. She had known that she had wanted the room with the balcony and big tree outside it. Though the years, the posters had changed and girl had grown up but the room stayed the same. Willow looked around her and knew what she had to do. She grabbed the phone and dialed before holding the handset between her ear and her shoulder, and pulled on socks and tennis shoes. "Hey, Buffy. Need a patrol buddy?"

Willow kept her radio on low and tip toed down the hall, it was odd having to sneak out of her house, since she used to be able to walk out while whistling a jaunty tune if she wanted, but the door to the attic stairs was closed and the light on. Her mom was still hard at work on her project and her dad was at a lecture slash dinner at UC Sunnydale. She figured she would be back in an hour but she left a note explaining she was 'hanging' with Buffy in case anyone checked in on her. Sometimes her parents would walk into her room, looking at her like they were making sure she was still there. Her father did that the most and it was heartbreaking to see his relief when his eyes fell on her. Willow walked out the door to find Buffy across the street from her house. She waved and then held her finger to her lips.

Buffy smiled and waved with a stake in her hand before gesturing to Willow's hair and mouthing silent words of shock and awe.

The two girls walked down the block before either spoke.

"Your hair!" Buffy leaned in closer to see it in the street light as they walked towards the nearest park. "I love it."

"Thanks." Willow took a deep breath breath. "While my shiny new hair is a third of why I asked to tag along on patrol, I had another reason besides that and, of course, the karma points."

"Spill." Buffy looked serious.

"Some girl time was necessary." Willow nodded with a sigh. "I need to be more serious about the hellmouth. Before Angelus, it was scary but we were always bounced back and scraped by in the nick of time. It never..." She twisted her hands as she trailed off. "I escaped from the mansion with magic and I think I should learn more. Learn to protect myself and be more of a help to you too. I know that we hold you back sometimes. I've calculated that my side-kicking could improve at least thirty percent with magic. There is almost a science to it." Willow crossed her arms and then pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Ms. Calendar says she'll train me."

"You're like an Eagles song now. I'm all for Proactive Willow. " Buffy smiled and bumped her shoulders against Willow's. "I checked out the Slayer manual after we got Oz home last night. There was a lot of mystical yadda yadda that seemed witchy to me in it. Maybe you could help me with it." Buffy shrugged. "I think you're right about the moral of the story. Normalcy is off the menu."

Willow smiled big and pulled Buffy in for a hug. "Want to help me with my booty kicking skills? My dad wants me to take a self-defense class. Ooo, and after class, we can talk magic shop while we get mochas."

"Sounds like a caffeinated dream." The girls walked down the street, talking about nothing in particular, but it meant the world to both of them.

When Willow came back home, she waved good bye to Buffy before going into the turned around and looked over her neighborhood. There was something that she had to do while she still felt like 'Proactive Willow' because she knew that she would chicken out later. Visions of visions tumbled through her mind. She walked to the garage and opened it up before taking a deep breath as she backed up to look at the attic window. No curious mother peered back at her.

Her bike had developed a fine layer of dust while she had been gone. She brushed off the seat before she looked over to the corner where her mom had kept all the debris from her room. Willow wanted a clean start, but she kept dragging around the baggage of the past. She let her parents drive her everywhere, she let her friends keep her inside, and she let herself stay cocooned from the world. She repressed all those horrible feelings and memories but she couldn't keep doing that if she wanted to be free of them. A new hair color and some witch lessons weren't going to change who she was or what she had been through. She'd have to face her fears because in Sunnydale, there was always another monster around the corner. She learned that much from yesterday.

Willow put the kick stand up and walked the bike out before closing the garage down as quietly as she could. Nighttime rides weren't the best idea in Sunnydale, but she had a stake and her 'Resolve Face' on. Her mother didn't look out the attic window so Willow hopped on her bike and forced herself to pedal towards the address in Sunnydale that she feared the most.

Crawford Street turned out to be less than ten minutes away by bike. Willow had avoided the street since she had come home. That made it a surprise to find it so California quaint with its roaring twenties style homes and mature oaks. Her room had been on the east side and only had a view of the next house's yard. She wondered if any of the neighbors knew who they lived next door to. Like a nest of vipers that lay coiled between the grasses and rocks, the vampires had hidden themselves in plain sight. She hadn't looked back at the house when she had escaped through the back, but she knew exactly which house it was when she pedaled up the driveway. Looking at the modernist twenties design, she made herself breathe while parking the bike and thought, 'I lived here for weeks and I never knew what the front looked like.'

Every step to the door felt leaden as if her feet were fighting her brain's commands. She bit her lip and told herself that he probably wasn't home and that she should come back in the daytime when he was sure to be there. Willow steeled herself and knocked.

Angel opened the door and took a small step back. He blinked. "Willow."

"Me." She waved. Pulling on a blank face was easier than she would have thought. Willow straightened her shoulders. "Can I come in?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Angel opened the door wider to show the bare and dark antechamber. Shadows laid across his face

"Limited seating, huh." Willow shrugged. "We can talk out here, but maybe, we should be sitting."

"That is what people do." Angel nodded and stepped forward. His eyes focused on her damp hair before he looked into her eyes. "How can I help you?"

Willow sat on the stoop and forced herself not to stiffen when he sat beside her. Feeling the first jolts of the craving, she tried to remember the breathing exercises that Giles had tried to teach her. "Its not how you can help me, its how I can help me and, well, you too, I think." She looked up to the starry sky where the milky way streaked bright against the cosmos. She'd watched the sky in those lonely nights at the mansion and wondered what else was going on under the stars. Willow must have made wishes on all of them. Meaningless wishes that hadn't came true. in the end, there was only what they could do. What could she do if she let the past weigh her down? She hated feeling tired from anger and sadness, she wanted that heavy burden off her heart. Willow didn't want to unpack her emotional baggage, she wanted to chuck it out on the curb. It couldn't be done in a night but she had to start somewhere. "Last night, for a split second, I saw inside you. Not like your skeleton or anything, but Angelus, Angel, the whole shebang in thrilling technicolor. I saw the goodness in your soul." She looked at his face and waited until he met her eyes. "I saw the people you would save, the ones you took in, the lives that you changed. You'll make mistakes and stumble, but you're like a weeble wooble, you always get back up." She smiled at him and could have cried from the guarded hope on Angel's face. "That is why I forgive you. Truly." She leaned in closer. "You're worth forgiveness, Angel."

Angel couldn't speak for a moment. He looked so serious as he looked at her and searched her face. "You really believe that?"

She nodded. "I know it."

"I hope you are right." Angel bowed his head, seeming to collect himself, before he raised his head with his usual stoic expression. "But what if it was just a trick?"

"Of all my thoughts, that was the first, but you saved my life again. You helped save the god fearing folk of Utah too. There is good in you and I don't need visions to show me that." Willow tried to smile. "Besides there was truth in that big acid test even if it was taken out of context to give us the wiggins."

Angel put his elbows on his knees and formed a triangle with his hands. "After all that you saw, after all I've done, how can you still forgive me?"

"I have too." Willow nodded and rubbed her hands on her arms to ward off the night's chill. Angelus had changed her forever and took away more than just a few weeks of her life, but Angelus was gone and she had to stop looking over her shoulder as if he was there. Besides if she could forgive Angel, she could forgive her mother, Buffy, the Sunnydale PD, and the whole world for being a horrible place even with demons subtracted out of the equation. She'd be able to forgive herself. "I can't live my life scared and angry." She touched his hands with her fingertips. "You can't move forward either, if you can't find a way to live with yourself. Wonky and brief as it was, I saw your search for atonement and to do good. Don't hold back on that."

"I'm moving to Los Angeles." Angel focused on where their hands met. His shoulders tensed under his black cotton T-shirt. A remote look drifted onto his face.

She just realized how close they were sitting next to each other on the stoop stair. Willow brought her hand back to her lap, trying to keep the effects of the Lingering Kiss down, and took a deep breath. "Why Los Angeles?"

"Because I'm not needed here, but a city that size needs someone fighting in the dark. I'm not the hero it needs." Angel shrugged, head bowed, shadows covering his face. "All I have are hands to help. "

"See, you're wrong, you are the hero it needs. Its exactly what I saw." Willow smiled. As Angel had spoke of his plans, she felt her tension fade. This was why she had to forgive Angel because he deserved it. He wasn't separate from Angelus, but he was different. One day he needed to understand that. "Don't be a stranger, Angel, when you get settled, let us know." She stood and put her hand out.

Angel looked bemused when he shook her hand. His usual tormented expression had dimmed like he could see a sea gull after years at sea. "Thank you, Willow."

She walked to her bike before she looked around. Willow tried not to think about it, but in many ways, she felt sorry for Angel. He had the crappy luck of the Irish combined with Sunnydale's own brand of suckage. "I know you can't see it now, but you're a hero at the end of the day."

Angel nodded and held his hand up in a still wave. A hint of smile on his face.

"Goodbye, Angel." Willow got onto her bike before turning around and pedaling down the street. She knew that Angel would shadowed her in the darkness to make sure that she got home safe, but it didn't bother her. It was who he was. Willow sped to her house, the ride lighter and quicker, as she felt some more of the pressure fall away. That chapter in their lives was finally over.

000

The mosquitoes and moths crowded around the front garage light and created soft shadows as Willow opened up the manual door. She walked between the sedan and the boxes of holiday decorations along the wall to where five black trash bags slumped in a corner. They were filled with the ruins of the first seventeen years of her life. Willow put her hands on her hips and took a ragged breath before she covered her mouth with her fingertips, feeling her throat tighten. She had to get rid of it- all of it.

Sweating as she lugged the heavy trash bags from her garage to the curb, Willow felt cold droplets drip from her still damp hair down her neck like so many tears she had cried over the last weeks. She turned her back on the last bag and wiped her forehead as she looked up at her balcony.

When she dreamed that night, she dreamed of a country crossroads at night. Wildflowers closed up their buds while crickets chirped in the swaying grasses. Civilization couldn't be seen in any of the four directions – not a light, not a house.

Drusilla stood at the center in a white dress that shimmered in the moonlight. The vampire shifted into her demon guise and held out her hands. "He tried to snuff out your light, bright as a butterfly and just as fragile, but you made the story yours in the end." Drusilla flickered and dimmed before leaving Willow alone with a final suggestion. "Be bold and strike hard."

She looked behind her on the path and saw Angelus, motionless in his silk shirt and leather pants, but she wasn't afraid. Ahead of her was an empty road that stretched for miles in the horizon. Willow stared at the moon in sky, more like a back drop of midnight blue silk than billions of galaxies and dark matter, before she smiled. He was gone, but if he ever came back, she would be ready. She wasn't a damsel in distress anymore.

Willow took the first step forward and then the next and the next.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, mysticwolf, olansamuelle, and Lisa Kelley for your past and future beta assistance! I want to thank all the people who have loyally reviewed my story and gave such great feedback like velvetwhip, rua1412, Cesci, Voldemortfollower, Malfoy-Lover555, snapesredneko, elliesmeow, and Blood Red Kisses. Your comments made me smile. Thanks again.
> 
> I still can't believe that I have finished this fic. I have been working on PL since 2004. This novel tops out at over 75,000 words and is my longest piece to date. I wrote it in starts and stops as I worked on other projects but I made it my 2010 New Year's Resolution to finish Porphyria's Lover. I thought it wouldn't get larger than a novella at most in the beginning but it outgrew its original outline and now clocks in at 308 pages (double spaced, 12 point font.) Its like a core sample of the evolution of my writing, my longest running WIP, and first finished novel, fan or original. I started it when I was 16 and I think that, despite being different than what younger me intended, my 16 year old self would be ecstatic that I completed it. Thank you to everyone who has read and commented over the years. I hope you enjoy the sequel, The Last Duchess, to be posted in 2011. Don't worry, guys, I already finished the rough draft of that one so it shouldn't take six years. I hope you have enjoyed the ride. :)


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